The Language of Trees
For Lorna Crozier

I used to be afraid of trees, she says, 
I’ve never even feared their shadows,
though I’ve heard they twist like monsters
and even in daylight, they have thorns. 
I was raised by trees, like Remus and Romulus 
but with a different bark,
they stood in for castles or shipwrecks when I played, held me when I cried,
taught me how to grow, with deep roots and arms reaching. 

In winter, I would stand in the forest
until I heard the cry of a sapling weighed almost to breaking with snow,
my tiny hands wiping the branches clean.
As I grew, I remembered this as a game,
but as I learn to be still,
I hear again the language of trees.
I wonder what favours they’ll ask,
what secrets they’ll share 
as they sing me to sleep, like all good mothers.

© Jane Kerrison