We live among them.
We pass by and between them.
They stand peaceably around.
They shade us, shelter us, envelop us.
They feed us, offering seeds, nuts,
fruit, leaves. Even as we say
they are like children, with their messes.
They protect us from storms.
They protect us from each other.
They protect our deepest sleep.
Percussions, rattles, tambourines,
they sough, they weep, wail and moan.
They call our names. They sing.
All day and all night, day and night,
they breathe for us, singing ribbons
of our sweet, powerful names.
Their longing gives us its banner.
Mostly we don’t hear them.
Mostly we are oblivious, we
are turned in another direction,
away from their sweet
loving breath upon us. And
every day, careless with their love,
ignorant of it, we destroy them.
Cut, burn, uproot, scrape, scar, skin.
They become ghost trees,
memory trees, holes and gaps.
And still they try to return to us.
They sprout.
They throw seeds, reproduce.
They coppice.
Because they never give up.
Trees never give up on us.
They never give up trying to save us.
Hi Janisse, I just signed up for your yearlong "course" but am now reading about the "Substack Nazi problem", as described in the Atlantic, and weakly defended by the Substack founders, giving voice (and money) to people who promote hate and god knows what else. In light of this, it makes me uncomfortable giving money to substack. I know many other writers are dealing with this, and I'm hoping that you all might look for another platform to publish on. I would like to continue following you and your work. Thanks for considering it.
Singing ribbons ❤️🔥