Monkey Girl

Two years ago, here,
I jotted in this notebook
to you each day.
You would speak
to the trees, gather with a group of them,
like sisters,
& you would touch one,
it seemed, sensing their
Now knowing that when I return to the city,
you’ll be gone, I’ll leave you here,
monkey girl, where the wind
from Misty Lake through the
Tamarack woods is the murmur
of your blood in my ears –
& the tree’s ears too,
which as you told me, of course,
are their leaves,
& which I’ve stolen one
from a Juniper, I think,
or maybe an oak, I’m not sure
and, any way, have hidden
in this notebook,
in the gesture
of silencing; or,

– Grassy Bay, Algonquin

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.