The Pine Tree

Fallen cones,

Lay abandoned at the base of the tree.

I too lie underneath it, cocooned in blankets.

Isolated, my edges sharp.

The tree remains just out of reach.

Reminiscent of the yew tree.

It too had a gothic shape.

The pine tree and I are unknown to each other.

The valley below us is long.

I haven’t seen where it ends.

Blackberries grow dark and wild near the boundaries.

Their blood stains my lips and hands.

What is this deep desire to overturn life?

To spill its contents onto the grass.

I wouldn’t care where they landed. I’m beyond that now.

The Pine tree outside my window is silent.

It has too many branches,

Tangled like arms, arms that are reaching, arms that will never hold me.

The abandoned cones and I stare up, the tree is unseeing.

The pine tree

A dark presence

A reflection of myself

Strokes the sky without tenderness.

Angry, pointed leaves

Stab at a silent moon

Please unleash your bats.

I am waiting.

Madeleine Summers-Stuart is a Brisbane writer and bookseller. She is currently completing a Master of Writing, Editing and Publishing at the University of Queensland. She enjoys writing dark little poems and raising a small human.

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