Jody Walker

Talking to Oak in Mourning

What if you were the very last tree?
The only one left to keep our secrets,
Hear our laments, grieve our sorrows,
Your own?

Would we stop the madness?
See wonder through new eyes?
Hold sacred vigils here at my parents’ graves?
Could a small child reach out and touch,
Feel the rivulet roughness of your bark?
Would a sparrow find rest,
Permission to nest?
Or, would barbed wire shroud your elegance,
Armed guards and “Keep Out” signs?

Just in case, I need to confide.
I rely on you to cradle holy ground,
Fidelity not even my dog would understand.

Maple, Ash, Oak, Aspen-
Earth in fluidity.
You live to protect Her.
Would die to protect Her.
Yet you’d take not one life to avenge Her demise.
(Anthem of a true patriot.)

And oh, that I could
Sway with the breeze regardless of tempo,
Reverberate rhythm regardless of rhyme,
Surrender to splendor, relinquish my need,
Allow revelation.

Sometimes I speak but the right words don’t come.
You’ve never needed to be right.
Your knotted scars and tangled trust-
Pure Bodhi speak.
Arms always reaching,
Limbs touching limbs in solidarity-
Branches-without-borders.

And somewhere deep,
In the womb of perpetual waking,
Arrogance dissolves in your rich, moist darkness.
Rooted dreams spiral their longing,
Tangled and hugged and calmed
In your fathomless underground,
Beyond words.

---

Jody Walker was born and raised in Frostburg, MD. Her goal as a writer has been to transform our perceptions regarding the beauty of the natural world and to its interconnectedness with all Life. She lives in Cumberland with her husband, Carey. She worked as an elementary teacher for 20 years with BS and MS degrees from Frostburg State University and has two grown children, Amy and Brad, two grandchildren and two kittens.

 

Tile: John Constable, A Great Oak Tree, c. 1801, Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington