The Drowning Tree

In dreams you resemble the drowning tree
a name two brothers give what they see — roots
exposed, wet curling claw desperately
forebodes the shifting sands below it loose
when home erodes; how still it stands, a trunk
hungover that could kill a man or two
wayward boys, a secret pond, where one sunk
reshapes a body like a tree, a yew
erosion rots in blue-green algae. No heir
will ever cut it down long after bones
are buried in the ground, bleeding hearts there
to signify how long it had been known
you would die uprooted from tragedy.
Nobody thinks to spare the drowning tree.

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of seventeen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Crow Carriage (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), The Meadow (APEP Publications) and Golden Ticket forthcoming from Roaring Junior Press. She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website

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