No Place
I started a project for an isolated tree I know
googled “unconventional girdle use”
and looked at the girdle section on Amazon
I showed that tree a video called “How to Perform a Citizen’s Arrest”
and laced her up in a plus size bustier
to establish myself as a sort of postmodern tree hugger
She made me think about Utopia
not as a place but a payment – in years, or limbs
super computers in warehouses
mining years and limbs
computing difficult puzzles
to the beat of Bangla
I brought my friend to meet the tree
he named her Eden, and gave us a mission assignment
a work order meant to maintain peace
between goers and givers
the tree and I decided it was time to wake up
start a new journey, in a rising direction
to combust desire and caution
for the sake of time running out
But as I lay under her
a translucent drone
some 92 million miles up
reveals a select few, who purchased contentment
and questioned the price of control
swaying to the sound of sunshine
Cut Down to Size
Fruition
It started small
with a thimble,
and then a collection of
fallen acorns formed my new backyard.
Oak pelted these nuts and I waited, sprawled on the outdoor furniture
as the yard filled, and aimless items began to appear; a target shopping cart,
a mattress, a toilet, mass cigarette butts, a failed attempt at a fire pit.
I waited, and envisioned a sign,
a hint. I waited for one of the falling acorns.
I waited for a special release, a gesture from Oak. I waited
for an acorn transformation, a human equivalent, promising myself
that when the time is right, only then the acorn will fall on me. I waited,
told myself I’m next but by fall I was walking through crunchy decaying nuts
thinking of the acorn button Peter Pan gave Wendy as a kiss in return, and the luck
I guaranteed with the help of one pesky strike.
Harvest
Only four months into my lease,
one morning I awoke to chainsaws.
Through the blinds in my sunroom,
I saw; branches being skinned, ropes lowering limbs,
and men rolling stumps to a dumpster in my neighbors backyard.
Oak, now completely shed of its acorns, taken away before my eyes.
Before my acorn ever fell.
I want to tell the man with the dangerous job to shower me in sawdust,
wash my limbs with his minimal wage
and cleanse my skin from his crane.
I wait again for a sign from Oak
but this time with no guarantee, no I’m next
I wait all day
clicking away at my keys
fabricating new omens, new road signs.
Until dusk, when the men pack up their tools
and the only space between myself and Oak’s stump
is my backyard and the newly carpeted Earth
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