I
I stumble through woods
where trees keep souls--
dead and gone,
newly-born,
I do not know.
I hear them breathe,
a different sound
than the thrum of sap,
the chitter of bare branches
one on another.
I do not feel my toes
anymore. They are stone,
but I feel the trees,
dug in deep,
weighted with snow.
Caleb? Is he wandering
through these woods,
alone and cold? So cold.
Can he hear the trees,
feel his toes?
I saw the woods
close around him.
I followed his footprints
until they faded under
falling snow.
He left me.
For dead?
I think he did not know
I was in the rubble,
digging my way out.
But did he look for me
as I search for him? I burn
somewhere deep—almost buried—
at the thought of lips
brushing mine.
That was a lifetime
ago. Before
my toes turned to stone
and the flame inside
fluttered like an injured bird.
The trees rattle
and clack in a knife-sharp wind.
They are restless, famished.
I must keep moving,
looking for him.
II
It’s colder now. I think
my bones are made of ice,
brittle, unforgiving,
but the woods stretch before me.
There is no stopping.
The snow has taken
all sound but the groan of limbs.
It’s smothered color.
Even the sky is fog-white,
no tattered scrap of blue.
Mile after mile of thickets
and endless snow. Something red
on a branch. An apple? A red bandana!
Caleb wore one pulled low
above his eyes.
It flutters. A blood-red rag in this
colorless world. He would not
leave it without purpose, a signal. A
sign that he lost his way.
Please, not that he lost heart.
I stumble through woods
where trees keep souls--
dead and gone,
newly-born,
I do not know.
I hear them breathe,
a different sound
than the thrum of sap,
the chitter of bare branches
one on another.
I do not feel my toes
anymore. They are stone,
but I feel the trees,
dug in deep,
weighted with snow.
Caleb? Is he wandering
through these woods,
alone and cold? So cold.
Can he hear the trees,
feel his toes?
I saw the woods
close around him.
I followed his footprints
until they faded under
falling snow.
He left me.
For dead?
I think he did not know
I was in the rubble,
digging my way out.
But did he look for me
as I search for him? I burn
somewhere deep—almost buried—
at the thought of lips
brushing mine.
That was a lifetime
ago. Before
my toes turned to stone
and the flame inside
fluttered like an injured bird.
The trees rattle
and clack in a knife-sharp wind.
They are restless, famished.
I must keep moving,
looking for him.
IIIt’s colder now. I think
my bones are made of ice,
brittle, unforgiving,
but the woods stretch before me.
There is no stopping.
The snow has taken
all sound but the groan of limbs.
It’s smothered color.
Even the sky is fog-white,
no tattered scrap of blue.
Mile after mile of thickets
and endless snow. Something red
on a branch. An apple? A red bandana!
Caleb wore one pulled low
above his eyes.
It flutters. A blood-red rag in this
colorless world. He would not
leave it without purpose, a signal. A
sign that he lost his way.
Please, not that he lost heart.
*
*
This is my first attempt at writing novel scenes in verse format and is my little entry in Valerie Geary's fresh Scene-in-Verse Blogfest. Thanks, Valerie, for inspiring me to try something new. It was great fun.
I hope everyone is having a fantastic week and looking forward to 2011.
