Bare Branches

Obviously the trees are turning green now, but I've always kind of been fascinated with the trees when they are empty. When they are just bark. This is a poem for the bare branches we all have, when we're brave enough to show them.

The trees are bare now
Reaching toward the sky
Unhindered by leaves
And blossoms

Bare
So that you can see homes
Nests that were hidden

They start out bare
They start out small
Then grow in distrust and sunlight
Clothing themselves in blossoms
Then leaves and fruit
Something to shield them
And something to give away

But covered

Until the Autumn comes
Until the heat recedes
Turning uniform green
Into snatches of sunset and fire
That fall

Leaving them bare
Bare to the snow and cold
Beautiful
A dead kind of beautiful
A slumbering kind of confidence
Like they don't care that you see their broken branches
The way the wind twisted them into their shape
The way someone pulled a chunk of bark off halfway up
They are solidarity
Arching their pale limbs toward the starlight and the snow drops
Bare and full
In a forest of branches. 




Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!