Tree of Heaven
I will live.
The ax’s angry edge against my trunk
cannot deny me. Though I thunder down
to lie prostrate among exalted grasses
that do not mourn me, I will rise.
I will grow:
Persistent roots deep-burrowed in the earth
avenge my fall. Tentacles will shoot out swiftly
in all directions, stubborn leaves explode their force
into the sun. I will thrive.
Curse of the orchard, blemish of the land’s fair
I have grown strong for strength denied, for struggle
in hostile woods. I keep alive by being troublesome,
indestructible, stinkweed of truth.