Trees interrupt gestures, misplace memory’s folded origami.
A pause in the midst of forgetting; a continuum.
Like the water hose curling from spigot – stretching its brass ‘O’ to base of dogwood – left mid-chore the thirstless mouth continues to irrigate ravenous pink blooms.
Chthonic surplus of roots flex into upheaval of white oak – thick gnarly limbs tower heroically over meager pedestrians. Strain to recall each as they fade.
Intimate red maple withdraws gossip into secluded company, reminds people the secrets want out.
Copper burst of sibilant voices over sidewalk, lawn, and driveway – a green
stellar force interrupts civic history, rooting its own memory in ours.
Joshua Bridgwater Hamilton holds an MFA from Texas State University and a PhD from Indiana University. His books are Excavator (Gnashing Teeth Publishing) and the chapbooks Rain Minnows (Gnashing Teeth Publishing) and Slow Wind (Finishing Line Press).
