Lucas Gonzalez
Trunk
Slanted forward in creation,
Left alone by time’s sedation.
I’ve been here before,
And I’ll be here again,
But what fascinates me
More than Anything
Is what will never be:
I could be alive with the wind,
A bright leaf, left slighted
And carried downward,
To that old, familiar
Cracked, curving ground.
I could be of those careless birds,
Flying straight-ahead, past the
Fear of failure.
I could be the trunk of a
Stuck tree:
Somber, knotted relic
Scapegoat of original sin
Static, unwavering, regal
Silently acknowledging changing seasons,
And all of those hidden burdens growing
Within heart-rotted persons:
Rootless people
Heads down and eyes avoidant,
Slanting forward, their wants discordant.
Edited by Blair Hill
Trunk
Slanted forward in creation,
Left alone by time’s sedation.
I’ve been here before,
And I’ll be here again,
But what fascinates me
More than Anything
Is what will never be:
I could be alive with the wind,
A bright leaf, left slighted
And carried downward,
To that old, familiar
Cracked, curving ground.
I could be of those careless birds,
Flying straight-ahead, past the
Fear of failure.
I could be the trunk of a
Stuck tree:
Somber, knotted relic
Scapegoat of original sin
Static, unwavering, regal
Silently acknowledging changing seasons,
And all of those hidden burdens growing
Within heart-rotted persons:
Rootless people
Heads down and eyes avoidant,
Slanting forward, their wants discordant.
Edited by Blair Hill
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