for C.

Later, you will admire the tree you came from – its artistic notches, the flourish
of branch and bark, the sweet density of leaf and blanket of shade, how the view
often tilted in your favor – skyward – where clouds drifted into whatever shapes
you wanted them to be. You will tell stories of your past in the way of myth,
each vignette pearlescent as dew. You will pluck good fruit from the old stems,
and the skin will still be soft and yielding. For now, though, offer your betrothal
to this strange, quaking new body. Admire the heated voltage of your fear, your blood
circling the drain. Remember you are merely at the outskirts of your own ballast,
that the swaying will go on for awhile, and then it won’t, and then it will again.
This is and isn’t the beginning. This is and isn’t the end.

Posted by kind permission of the poet.

Maya Stein

Maya Stein

About the author

Maya Stein is a Ninja poet, writing guide, and creative adventuress. She has kept a weekly short-form poetry practice, “10-line Tuesday” since 2005, and facilitates writing workshops in person and online. After a 7-year stint in suburban New Jersey, she is now happily ensconced in the wilds of mid-coast Maine, in a house named Toad Hall. Connect with her at (Photo by Chris Battaglia)