A tree

cased in age-dried cracks,
a droughted scape of spreading

riverbeds, carved clumsy;
edges curled like cupping palms.

Leaves from too-tired limbs left to fall,
dropping rain-heavy to bind

with mud their rotting faces
to wander-cracking soles.

A naked canopy scratching sky
higher than the crane of reaching

necks; branch-arms shadow-
stretching, throwing slant-slip

shade, cold across squint-shielded knots.
Breeze-tapping twigs carry-catch

the sighing scent of some distantly browning
lilacs. I’d stand close, tracing bark-breaks, almost asking

Can I call this body mine?

Benjamin Wright will be graduating from Brigham Young University in April 2021 with a BS in Exercise & Wellness, and a Creative Writing minor. He is in the process of applying to MFA programs around the United States to continue his studies of poetry.

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