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April 1, 2012 vol 8 no 1

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Carol Pearce-Worthington


Treecutter

what to pack what to take along. that dark watering can? flower in a pot? smooth humpback rock? flowers painted on my shirt – I don't have to bring them. the bus waits. not honking. I look around. know only what I see. pack in private. feelings gone. deciding. a rock seems unnecessary as does the flower and the watering can. what am I leaving. where am I going? choosing occupies me. the connection to things hesitates me. the van waiting. the decisions of what really matters. what I leave for others who do not yet appear who can't care what I leave they have their own decisions. I have only a rock, a flower, a watering can, and I don't need them, so the only decision worth making is to go to get on the van and leave not knowing and unprotected as a breeze go. I stand with the rock in hand. where did I find it, which beach, which time, which ocean. I was with my husband. we had a car. I placed it in the trunk, too heavy to carry, blessed by the ocean, blasphemed by the city, white smooth and long this rock too heavy to carry here it is. carried. I eat a chocolate bar and think. lately my husband is buying chocolate bars. I eat a chocolate crumb from the front of my flowered shirt. the light outside goes dark. who said I had to go? who said pack? who waits outside to take me from where I am to another place, no rush it seems, it's all up to me, what to bring, though it seems I must leave, I own little or nothing. last of the chocolate. hot green tea. seems I must leave though nothing gets explained. nothing bothers me either except leaving this rock which I can bring if I choose. there are the usual hesitations, its weight and that it doesn't fit in a pocket or a wallet, smooth, silent, part of us now me and him found together brought to our together home that empty place in last night's dream. who has the right to make me dream like this?

a leaf taps
my window
the forgotten tree




crane