A Splitting in the Forest

Delayed heartbreak, or perhaps, heartbreak in small doses. The mind knows how much we can handle, without completely unraveling, so it poisons us slowly, to make us adapt, so we survive the process.

Soon a sound will crack its way,

Like a whip unfurling in the wind,

Through the dense forest canopy

The bark will split, and then the middle will follow

Sap will flow, and the air will be filled with the urgency

Of fraying wood, splitting and spitting

Bits of itself into the air

A tree that never belonged…

Perhaps an oak

Or cedar,

Or any other species that belongs elsewhere

And not in the dense humidity of equatorial forest

That tree will come down with a rush

Meet the earth and spill its abominable seeds on the ground

Its seeds will not grow

They will not take roots.

Everything that came from its flesh will die with it.

But for now, there is silence,

And the song of birds

And the wind’s long fingers between the leaves

And only the promise of the splitting

To come.