L'arbre

There are fifty leaves

left on the tree that's rooted

in my October heart.

 

They tremble when I breathe

and whisper when I speak.

 

As a child, I would rest

my palm on the old

crab-apple tree's twisted

flesh and sit between its

teeth, ask for its' name.

 

My tree does not know

the nimble taste of light or the

decadence water knits

and its trunk is wrapped

with veins that bloom

in colors that don't yet exist.

 

It trembles when I speak

and whispers when I breathe.

Author's Note

put the comma back in after reading comments, I feel the urge of it's presence

Reviews

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

I love the flow (apparently there's been an edit, but I can't imagine you changed it too much). I like the way you turned the last stanza around in repetition.
I like how the roots taste soil instead of light, and as you describe it, it's like you're telling each other a story. Similarly, you further, and perhaps more subtly and powerfully, express a subtle disconnection with the outside world as you connect the reader with time when you describe veins/colors. It's an interesting contrast you create between fantasy/reality and history/moment(s) in time. Very interesting to read, thank you.

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

I think the last line of the debated stanza needs the word "ask" needs to be "asking", or another "and" thrown in there for it to make sense grammatically, unless I'm reading it wrong..I'd hate to think we're debating everything but the relevant, LOL

[Celestial Witch Child]

Wow. I mean, just-- wow.