To the paper we grew 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
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
Poem: © Kristiana Reed & H. M. Reynolds 2020