To all of you who have not frozen to death yet in the cold, star-white winter, here's my next poem for you. Please enjoy!
I started cutting at a tree called childhood today.
Got my pa’s hatchet and started wiling my time away.
I get through the bark and it hurts like hell.
I never thought I’d feel this much.
I wanted to see how tall it would grow-
When I was a kid that didn’t know,
That what is weed and what is tree,
Is quite alike to human eyes.
I hit it the first time through the flesh and skin.
I smell the sweet weedliness that men
Older than I am say I shouldn’t have.
I should have gotten rid of it long ago.
I wonder though at times like these,
Times when young men chop down trees,
Whether or not the weed’s been a tree the whole time.
Maybe it’s been just the way it’s supposed to be.
I quit cutting halfway through.
Left enough bark for it to live its life.
Perhaps they’ve been wrong all this time.
And the tree they said was a weed, was a tree indeed.