What the Trees Teach

Arborial Tutelage

You message each other
through networks of mycelium,
and I, mere admirer,
breathe in your gifted air,
cycle it through my cells,

exhale thoughtlessly.

Oh, sturdy uprights—
you who shade
and give shelter
for creatures seen—
squirrels, raccoons,
all the winged ones
and the crawlies

and unseen—
microbes, bacterium,
buzzing verdant particles,

you who are thick and thin,
Pine and Oak,
modeling forbearance
through all seasons,

collectively you take my breath away
and return it
fresh and new.

Papery Birch teaches
the wisdom of peel and expose—
Don’t be afraid to be real.

Willow whispers
See here, I can show you
the wisdom in letting go.

May I, too, become
anchor for vital layers,
holding well
the dark, teeming earth
cupped in my open
calloused hands,
whose veins, raised and vivid,
mimic root systems.

May my face become trunk,
corrugate with
the sapience of years.

May I hold space
for all the daughters
rising up, rooting down,
leafing towards the light.

And, when I am worn thin
by use and age,
when my sack is empty
and Hereafter is calling my name,

may I be nourishment,
ash for the growth of seedlings,
saplings, their young
leaves or needles
shimmering in the sun.

Published in Amethyst Review 4/18/26

Photo by Arnaud Mesureur on Unsplash