My Writing

Am I a Tree

They say if a tree falls

in the forest and no one’s there

to hear it,

then it doesn’t make a


I see so many of my brethren here.

Tall evergreens,

never-fading beauty,

strong, sturdy trunks

and branches fit for nests.

Apple trees offer delicious fruit,

redwood growing

to enormous size,

big enough to drive a car

through the opening in its roots.

From the receptionist’s office,

I see my brethren in abundance.

Their leaves turn gold in the fall

and scatter the ground

with brilliant red, rustic brown, lively yellow.

I don’t need to see their roots

to know how deep they reach.

It’s proof enough that they stand


in a windstorm.

I sit in my pot

and ponder this.

I sit in Styrofoam dirt

and wish that

I too had roots.

I too would stretch my branches to the storm,

but the wind would snap the plastic.


Photo by veeterzy on Unsplash