And the woman became the willow
And the woman became the willow
I saw this woman once,
she had long hair and a squinched face
her hands had large knots from days of work,
but you could see happiness from her foggy eyes.
With her bowed limbs
she reminded me of a willow,
twisted and hanging, but still strong.
I wanted to take her hand and ask her how,
how she was so happy and strong,
but she appeared so old and strained.
I didn’t ask, instead I marveled at her character.
I fell in love with her happiness and her joy,
this willow of a woman stood proudly in her place.
She became the tree that we all marvel but never touch.
Call us the American Sycamore
The American Sycamore is us.
The American Sycamore is not just American.
It can also be found all across North America
The American Sycamore can be large and plentiful
Or it can be tall and sparse;
A representation of the people that call the land it grows on home
Why do we call the American Sycamore ‘American’
When it could be called ‘Native’ or ‘Indigenous’
I think, that like everything else, Native meant non-existent
And Indigenous is dangerous, so it became American.
Consuming and suffocating.
I think that my grandmother is a Magnolia.
Magnolias have this way of surviving storms
and blooming despite broken branches.
I think that my grandmother is a Magnolia.
Because she has a smile as bright as a magnolia flower.
Because as a magnolia wears its flowers, my grandmother wears her crown.
I think that my grandmother is a Magnolia.
Magnolias don’t provide anything but shelter and beauty.
Like how my grandmother provides care and hugs.
I think that my grandmother is a Magnolia.
Because as she ages her skin stays gentle just grows tough.
Because she is a home for songs, sunshine, and peals of laughter.
Swing from me like you were a child again
When you fall I will collect you in my branches
Wipe your tears with my leaves
Shush your crying with the wind that rustles through me
Swing from me like you were a child again
So that I might never have to witness you leaving me again
Your back to me as you limped home
Because this was a bruise that I could not fix, could not nurse
This was a bruise off the heart
And what are matters of the heart to those who have none
Who have no tears to cry, just sap to fall
No arms to hold, just branches to lift
No scratches from fights, just cuts from your blade
But please swing from me like you were a child again
I give you my leaves
You bat them away and roll your eyes
And I fall in love with you
I give you my fruits
You pick the prettiest and toss the rest
And I only think about you liking a part of me
I give you my twigs
You burn me
And I only think about how the fire illuminates your face
I give you my branches
You toss me away
And I am still in love with you
I give you the crown from my head
You destroy it
And I frown
I give you my trunk
You call it ugly
And I tear pieces of my bark off
I give you my roots
You stomp all over them
And I bury myself