To the paper we grew from/

stemmed from

lines in bark translate to lines on pages.

 

To the letters we kept

buried between roots,

words we chose not to burn but breathe,

in and out, oxygen and carbon dioxide,

the earth’s atmosphere in our palms.

 

To the woods, to the

words we wrote in our heads when we

first saw the canopy in the clearing.

Like I could’ve always seen the

green in the grey if only I had been

show it clear enough.

 

Or the pink in the surface of a

babbling brook,

playing in the dying light of day.

The truth in the smallest things,

in the widest canopies with frondy hearts

and eyes, in me. In you.

 

To us, two pines

spaced too far apart

to be called accidental.

There is method in how far we fell

from our mother trees,

and all this space

in between is just a chance

to hold ourselves – but apart

in all of this knowing,

in all of our growing.

 

And to the times I forgot the trees,

thank you for casting shadows,

for your pockets of light, the widening

sky, thank you

 

for never forgetting me.

 

---

 

Thank you to the wonderful H. M. Reynolds for collaborating on this piece with me! I adore how it turned out and how difficult it is to tell who wrote which bit. It’s a pleasure to write with someone in a way that we combine as one voice. 

Follow H. M. Reynolds below and visit her website: hmrwrites.com

@hmrwrites on Instagram

@hmrwrites on Facebook

 

Poem: © Kristiana Reed & H. M. Reynolds 2020

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

https://linktr.ee/KristianaReed