The kind of person I was is not the kind of person I am.
Just a body,
A potato sack of nards.
A tree turning red against a blue sky full of mourning,
Summer is dying and so is my heart.
Voices flutter like the birds,
So free and blinded as their broken wings fight against the impossible,

Sitting in a window is no way to live your life.
Sitting in a man is no way either.
Mother was sewing and pricked herself.
She didn’t forget to wince but she forgot to bleed.
She went to bed without talking and no food.
Bright white skin matching purple bags of restlessness awoke the next morning,
Only to find her children had been consumed by adulthood.

I sat feeling the summer kissed skin surrendering to the pink.
The pink soon darkened,
Slowly turning my skin red,
Then fell to white as winter sucked away summer from my mind and fall from my eyes.
Every night filling halls fat with loud voices,
Never talking,
Just yelling so that the truth could never enter their ears
Lies were slapping them blind,
Leaving them daft and retarded on the floor.

I went away from the tree turning red,
Never to see it again,
To experience its beauty,
Its hatred of the world around it dying,
Bending to the winter.
Back there,
I still hear the yelling.

by Tracy Jayne, 12th Grade

photo by flummoxed1 via flickr

No Responses to “The Tree Turning Red”

  1. Carolyn

    Tracy, this poem is very well written! I love your comparison to the life cycles of nature and human life.

    Nature has a way of bringing back the beauty, making us forget the dismal winters of its seasons. We humans could certainly learn a lot from that, couldn’t we?

    I especially like the 2nd stanza. My mother did the same thing when I was very young. Your wording is spot on: “… she forgot to bleed.” She denied herself to be human. If a tree denied itself to be a tree, it would never live as it was intended to do, and such is the same with human life.

    Thanks for sharing this and keep writing! You are a very talented young lady 🙂

  2. easywriter

    A poignagnt expression of emotion.

    How our experiences in this life change us and shape us, just remember that they do not control us. Nothing ever stays the same, not you or I and not the world around us and life can be as sweet as it is bitter, look up, look forward, never stop learning or caring or feeling, and keep on writing. It’s a fine art for exploring life, yourself and the impact that each of has on others.


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