I grew up with trees,
The orchard filled with light and the soft breeze
which came by daily
My trees had strong roots, unfurled deep into the soil,
rooted in humanity and beautiful for it.
I loved my trees, strong as they were,
a guide to a girl lost in the night.
My trees.
Then they came for my trees, when I was away
Tore at their bark and lashed at their roots,
peeling away the moss.
My trees, the branches of hope given to me,
the support and shade, dependably there.
Hurt, but not broken,
my trees do grow tall,
healing as the seasons go.
The scars still remain, etched deep and cruel.
My trees fight
Push away with sharp branches and unforgiving bark,
resisting the rough whispers of the night,
the ugly grabbing hands, the yielded axes, biting words
unjustified, entranced by our bursts of bloom,
our heavenly perfume. Why must we fight them off?