The branches
just kept going
up all the way,
curled around
the moon
and Mars,
holding us
all safe
in the universe.
Leafy tendrils
garlanded the sky.
I’m being silly.
The physics
would mean
the death of us.
But maybe
that’s not so bad.
Why not leave the place
to the blameless trees?
These dream giants,
future-tense sequoias,
maybe they could be
better than us.
About the author:
Sara Eddy (she/they) has published two chapbooks (Tell the Bees, A3 Press, 2019, and Full Mouth, Finishing Line Press, 2020). Her new full-length collection, Ordinary Fissures, can be purchased via Kelsay Books or on Bookshop.com or Amazon
Her poems have appeared in many online and print journals, including the Threepenny Review, the Raleigh Review, and the Baltimore Review. She is Assistant Director of the writing center at Smith College, in Northampton, Massachusetts. Sara lives Amherst in a house built by Emily Dickinson’s cousin.
Website: https://www.saraeddypoetry.com/
Instagram: @saraeddypoetry
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