Wednesday, February 14, 2018

A Valentine for a piece of wood, Sylvia Manning

Mesquite Angel

“Angel: the candle that leans to the heart’s north.”
é Char, Leaves of Hypnos #16

Sitting one, spine straight, head high, proudly
facing due north, true as compass assurance,

anyone can see
you’re only of oldest mesquite tree
broken roughly, quite, its largest limb
wherein you dwelled these decades

until man in machine raised
its wide snout to break you roughly out,
blood red, anger in your bark-
created head and crown
audible even in awful noise
of machine going on to tear away
the other limbs and huisache.

Jagged sharded wood,
splintered hood of your headpiece
pointing to clouds above new caliche,
skirts swept as if side saddling
a mount beneath to bear you

wherever an angry angel
deems she must go
before they bring the chainsaw,
the blood moon, the fire.

2/14/18 after

1 comment: