by Liza Rose
when forty-mile-an-hour winds come like final judgement, i am afraid
of the trees—not only because one could fall on the house, my older brother’s
mid-century modern liminally weaving populace and nature—but because
the trees look more alive than ever, as though heartwood turned
to blood and bone, sapwood to flesh and fat, cambium
to tendon and muscle, bark to skin. how my animal brain
can only understand things in animal terms like “limbs”. meanwhile,
the trees are whispering beneath my feet. what they are saying, i am not
meant to hear. there is only the roaring of wind
as we walk—me, my mother, my brother and his dog. there is nothing
like cold air in the lungs to remind you that you are alive, yet
we cannot see the hot carbon dioxide of our breath. maybe the wind
has stolen it, like it has stolen countless recycling cans, flags, trampolines.
the sun watches blankly. it has been one week and one day since the winter solstice—
the days are getting longer. it has been one week and one day since my aunt died,
suffocated in her sleep. how did no one know she was that sick?
my mother asks. we couldn’t see inside, i say. like how we can’t see which trees
are full of rot, can’t know which will fall. she hasn’t stopped moving since
losing her older sister. a couple of days ago, she woke before me and my brother
to walk, and found herself gasping, unable to find any air. now, we walk together.
as we turn back, there is a crack-like lightning strike, and then there is a tree
asleep on the house we just passed—white wood splintered like bone, reddish
brown holding together like tendons. tonight, we will all sleep in the basement,
curled together among the dogs and cats and spiders. and tomorrow, we will wake.
· · ·
[Liza Rose is a poet from rural Pennsylvania now living in New York City with her barn-born orange cat, Chai Honey. She received her MFA from NYU’s creative writing program. Her work has been published by, or is forthcoming from, EcoTheo Collective, Academy of American Poets, Mississippi Review, West Trade Review, Apricity Press, among others. She loves insects, horror, being alive, and much more. She is forever curious about everything.]
PØST 