Skip to main content

Forgotten Forests

Sharing with The Sunday Muse for Sunday Muse #197.

Photography by Kristine Wayman

My hand was not shaped for the axe
so it waited--tooth in the tough wood;
back of its head warm, then hot, then cooler;
body dreaming of wood made useful.
When I brought it into the garage
and left it, carefully, in a corner,
it dreamed of being outdoors,
felt the thin frame of the garage,
the restless former forest underneath,
and, then, it was just an axe.
Silent, dreamless, and inert.
Our forests are long forgotten. 

Missed y'all last week! 

-- chrissa

Comments

  1. Carrie Van HornFebruary 5, 2022 at 8:18 AM

    We missed you too my friend! This is a deep and lovely ode to trees and all the ones long since gone to axes in greedy men's hands. It always saddens me when I drive by a large property where all the trees have been taken to accommodate a shopping center or neighborhood. It really is sad on so many levels. Beautiful writing Chrissa!

    ReplyDelete
  2. indybevFebruary 5, 2022 at 8:24 AM

    It saddens me to see a tree cut down. Land developers are heartless and greedy, destroying much of beautiful for one more lot, one more house. Point well taken.

    ReplyDelete
  3. JimFebruary 5, 2022 at 8:27 AM

    Chrissa, I am sorry your axe has gone still and dreams no more. Such a nice write to read this morning. I've got stuff in my garage, some used and some not. Biggest bulk is two Ford Mustangs, a 1974 and a 1998, disabled but wanting to be on the go. No, wishes to go fast but doesn't chop wood.
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  4. FireblossomFebruary 5, 2022 at 9:00 AM

    I was thinking of the wooden handle of the axe, too. I really like the way you wrote it, Chrissa. One of my favorites of yours.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Sherry Blue SkyFebruary 5, 2022 at 9:32 AM

    This is really clever - seen from the axe's perspective. I loved it.

    ReplyDelete
  6. ms_liliFebruary 5, 2022 at 1:27 PM

    Such a melancholy atmosphere. I feel bad for opportunity cut short and then forgotten.

    ReplyDelete
  7. HelenFebruary 5, 2022 at 4:01 PM

    Stunning poem, Chrissa! Stunning.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Sunra RainzFebruary 6, 2022 at 6:21 AM

    I enjoyed your musings on the journey of the tree, and those final two lines finish it beautifully:

    "Silent, dreamless, and inert.
    Our forests are long forgotten."

    ReplyDelete
  9. qbitFebruary 6, 2022 at 10:11 AM

    Oooh! "body dreaming of wood made useful." is fantastic, and "tooth in the tough wood" is such a rugged image. I love you brought it around to the forest no longer there, that made a powerful ending.

    ReplyDelete
  10. TruedessaFebruary 6, 2022 at 11:22 AM

    I never really thought of the wooden handle of the axe before in that way. Strange that a product of a tree is used to cut down a tree. Welcome Back...

    ReplyDelete
  11. .February 6, 2022 at 3:29 PM

    Powerful. The last line made me appreciate the forest near our town even more.

    ReplyDelete
  12. purplepeninportland.comFebruary 12, 2022 at 4:55 PM

    This is wonderful poem, and comment on our society.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Blue Fields Far Below

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties.  A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles  Someone washed the blue skies and she knows  It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home.  Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom).  -- Chrissa
6 comments
Read more

Once Upon a Future Past

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa
14 comments
Read more

Flagrant

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :)  Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air.  Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2  at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...
7 comments
Read more