Point B.

I imagine you see us as a bridge to be crossed. A small adventure from point A to B with no regard for maps or the geography of the land; how my summit reaches higher into the sky, moated round with ravines dressed in jagged edges.

You pay no heed to the warning signs. The stillness in the air; a fog of unrequited love and trust swirling in wreaths at your feet.

You simply see me as B. A destination you feel entitled to; a land to which you’ve laid your biological claim without first counting how many rivers run or trees grow. You have not observed the flora and fauna before setting heavy boots at my earthen door threatening to bloom.

You do not register each step as taken without consent. You do not call this an invasion; you’ve named it a relationship, with one-sided dialogue because my throat is choked with kicked up mud and moss.

You do not realise I am every point on a map you cannot read.

You do not realise I will never be your point B.



Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

Available internationally

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