Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
PenumbraPoetPoems
Old Sycamore, do you bend your spine to memorize the rain’s wet signature--- do you count the rings as loss or lore, and when you sway, is it a wish or a whine? Old Sycamore, how do you hold the grief of split bark, the carpenter ant’s slow siege, the girl who carved her lover’s lie so deep sap wept two summers just to seal that leaf? Old Sycamore, why do you raise your crown like a chalice for the lightning’s kiss? Do you mistake the storm for holy sound, the scorched branch for a psalm of permanence? Old Sycamore, where do you store the small murders of frost, the robin’s broken egg, the boy who climbed your shoulders just to fall, then blamed the bruise upon your crooked leg? Old Sycamore, when do you decide to drop the limb too heavy with its dead--- do you practice mercy like a kind of pride, or simply feel the rot and bow your head? Old Sycamore, I ask because I know the winter I keep folded in my chest. Teach me which scars to wear and which to grow through, before I ask which branch is next.
0
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 6:41 PM UTC
- A Root's Reckoning: What the Sycamore Knows -
Old Sycamore, do you bend your spine to memorize the rain’s wet signature--- do you count the rings as loss or lore, and when you sway, is it a wish or a whine? Old Sycamore, how do you hold the grief of split bark, the carpenter ant’s slow siege, the girl who carved her lover’s lie so deep sap wept two summers just to seal that leaf? Old Sycamore, why do you raise your crown like a chalice for the lightning’s kiss? Do you mistake the storm for holy sound, the scorched branch for a psalm of permanence? Old Sycamore, where do you store the small murders of frost, the robin’s broken egg, the boy who climbed your shoulders just to fall, then blamed the bruise upon your crooked leg? Old Sycamore, when do you decide to drop the limb too heavy with its dead--- do you practice mercy like a kind of pride, or simply feel the rot and bow your head? Old Sycamore, I ask because I know the winter I keep folded in my chest. Teach me which scars to wear and which to grow through, before I ask which branch is next.
Did you know Sycamore trees bleed sap when they are damaged? It's quite interesting. The sap helps the tree heal, the way clotting of blood does for us humans.
#old#sycamore#wisdom#sap#root#inquisitive#scars#sorrow#heal#blood
PenumbraPoet
Written by
PenumbraPoet
117/M/The Grey Area
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 6:41 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem