What the tree sees

We crowd each other,

younger jostling older

as we politely fight

for air and sun and

rain and decomposition

of most things that

provide food. Saplings

chatter and chirrup 

with far more bravado

than courage, more fear 

than inherent bravery

underlying the claim,

the bluff, the assertion

of opinion as fact.

Saplings know all

as they slyly eye

each other for prime

position in the sun.

They see me but

pretend I’m not there,

a reminder of what

they become, assuming,

of course, they first

survive.

I see all this, remembering

myself as know-it-all sapling,

knowing that I know less now

than when I was young. Now 

what I see is only

my shadow.

Tweetspeak Poetry is hosting a poetry prompt this weekfor Poetic Earth Month. It’s a simple prompt, based on a dreamy, haunting photograph of trees by Kelly Sauer and asking what the tree sees. Kelly is also the photographer for the cover photo of my second novel, A Light Shining.