Curse Me

Curse Me                                                        

Too many opinions
growing this forest
desert dry
they steal half truths
dew in the morning
and drink it up
like rainstorms

Care for the oldest oak
becomes unmanageable
too many rings
deep roots
we are crushed by the load
of our own identities

The tree falls
and no one hears
over the thunder
of wooden words

It’s time to disembark
move on from this familial grove
and if the leaves I rarely see
wish to damn my name
for as long as their wind will blow
they have my blessing

October 5, 2014
Tressa Lee Breen


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