The Wake

I saw the tree and it was knotted and twisted
Its face was hidden from me.
It was twisted,
her body was twisted.
Right around the middle she was twisted.
And she was there.
Rooted and hunched and twisted.
She was rooted and hunched and twisted.
She was winding in her waiting,
growing more twisted,
waiting and growing,
twisted and waiting to release, to let go, to unwind those knots,
to spring to open to fling her hair,
shriveling contortions of brown and green
She waits to spread her branches,
to scream a song of release, to walk uprooted.
Feet entangled in dirt she tilts and toils
to lift her head that’s buried beneath,
buried with eyes closed.
Rooted within her waiting she is holding
knots and twists at a stand still.