You are paper
You are the cross
A thousand birds have perched and nested in your limbs

You have protected from the rain and provided shade from the sun
The squirrels have played in your branches
You have offered fruits and nuts
A thousand pieces of furniture have decorated our homes
A thousand logs have burnt in the grate keeping us warm at night

You have stretched into the night watching the flight of the owl
The stars sprinkle your leafy head rustling in the wind
Ivy clings to your trunk, its stairway to the light

As a child, I have climbed branches monkeyishly in delight
Run up and down your wooden stairs
And fallen freely to the ground cutting open my flesh

But it never hurt as much as when I saw you fall
To the axe and the saw, a cracking sound like the owl’s screech
Your roots like the hairs of the Gorgon’s head are twisted
A head with its nerve endings laid bare