Anneke Zegers
Almost all things turn out fine,
You’ll see.
Trees’ leaves fall to the ground
Like maidens stripping off their silken robes
To step into the baths
And dip their roots
To test the soapy water.
Trees shed their foliage
And shiver in the winter wind
Skeletons standing tall
Fingers reaching motionless toward the sky.
Birds’ nests wither and die
Floating away in storms
Or idle breezes
And chipping away
At the twigs.
The bite of cold cracks
And bark splits open
Spilling frozen innards
Of a dying plant.
Unfeeling, unflinching
It stands the snow piling down
Dusting its arms
Balding its scalp
Breaking its resolute spine
Which still does not give.
The bone is hard and wet
But not yet brittle enough
To topple.
And Decembers roll into Januaries
And Februaries come after
And a long winter it endures.
Months of pressure and snow
Of such a degree
Would kill a man
And turn us all
To bone.
And March ushers in the sun once more.
The cold chill abates
As the snow washes into rivers of tears.
Such sympathy from its oppressor
Breathes life back into its weary sinews.
The great burdened being sighs
And sprigs of green hair
Bloom on every edifice.
Tentatively, it reaches out its roots once more
And finding the boundaries of weary winter months
At last broken
Leaps into new growth
With a heart of
Unabashed hope.
And such a tree as this
Always survives the starving season
And keeps standing
Under aches and pains
And hard rains.
Almost all things turn out fine
You see.