by Moira Toomey
I am old,
I am ancient.
I rain green pleasure,
Filtering showers of joy.
I stand tall and solid,
My skin is grey, thin and smooth.
If you were me and I you
Would I knife my name?
Bleeding you for my pleasure?
If I were you and you me?
Would I tattoo your soft flesh and leave you wounded?
I grow, broadening slowly,
your name cracking and expanding as I age.
My skin scarred from your knife.
But I stand.
Rooted to my mother as she turns.
I am sheltering,
Raining cool breath.
Moira Toomey usually expresses her creativity through the printmaking process, but in response to nature’s cries, she is sometimes called to put these ideas into words.
She says, “I wrote this poem in response to a beech tree on Lion’s Head Trail in Ontario. It was a way of dealing with my pain and anger at seeing the defacement of beauty. I adore the strength of old growth stands of beech trees, but I wish people would leave them alone.”