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Resilience and Resurrection



Ah! But what to call it!?
These are not trees, not
lawn or cloud or fire
which took down the trees
on the mountain. Why fire,
why fire      so enamored      with tree?
Why sky so needy of smoke –
its quick sucking upward      the smoke
leaving the fire      leaving the tree cleaving
                                                        to the mountain.


Is tree scared of sky, in tree’s end clinging
toothpick to mountain? That was not end.
Not beginning,      fool.


                                       fool-
hearted the cloud rings
around the moon
in day passing over fire
licking after smoke
rising from its tomb
                                        the fire an angel
lifting the veil
rolling the stone to the left
                           toward memory
                           toward our fathers
jingling change
and keys in pocket
                                   singing gospel
                                   because they know it
our mothers
making wine
                      from apples
our fathers
                  refused




how fire wants smoke
                                     though fire
releases smoke from its tomb
                                            chases smoke until fire
                                            runs out of breath


how sky desires smoke
sucking in and deep    the sky quickens
                                                                 black
                                                                 from its desire
    fire on mountain       jealous of sky




how easily smoke leaves the tree of fire
how smooth the sky’s seduction of smoke




the mountain red
                         the sky red
                                     with smoke the fire          spitting upward
at the sky          choking          a glutton’s last bite




is the tree          on the mountain          just a vessel
                                                                             a boat of smoke of fire of sky?




after decades of silence
a great cacophony
of fire          of splitting          of human wails and chainsaw
nails          of metal on stone
                                                 dripping silver
splatter of roasted mountain.


these trees now silent again.
resurfaced. rerooted. re-silenced.


now atop the needle’s head an angel
                                                             white-gloved and whistling,
her chainsaw and dremel-bit demons
                                                             scratching at the door.


freedom in resurfacing. freedom in rerooting.
                                                                            freedom, re-silencing.




can it be true!? these trees seen
upside down! twin popsicle sticks
                                                         holding the earth – its ball
of sweet and sour         our rounded malice         our sphere
                                                                                                of memory.




These trees are not trees, this earth not earth.
Now together – a popsicle
                                             for gravity’s weak tongue.

If there is one Creator, there is then, one
                                                                       tongue.


Resilience     a tree     re-silenced.
Resurrection, a tongue      released.





this poem commissioned and titled after Kate Hodges’s sculpture of the same name, which she created as part of her Centennial Sculpture Award at the University of Arizona, 2005


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These pages last updated 2007.03.13 by Ralph J. Murray. Copyright 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003 The Burnt Possum Poets (Dan Easley, Jeremy Frey, Chad Gusler).