The Fieldstone Review

If I Were a Tree

by Lorraine Whelan

  My curls could be leaves
  crispy and crinkly they would frame my face
  and wave in breezy gusts while tethered to my head.
  Rustling.

  My limbs could be thin branches
  or preferably wing-things with soft feathers,
  they could flutter among the leaves of my hair.
  Whispering.

  My body could be some kind of nest
  a nourishing stillness to all the movement –
  the fluttering, the waving, the looser parts free.
  Steadfast.

  And secure as a hearth, a home.
  If I could really be a being –
  part of a new nature, a dryad-bird –
  a force that I am not.