The last month has been one of travel, writing new poetry while feeding spotted pigs or admiring the wildness of the Tongass National Forest. Poetry, that impulse, fits in all my backpacks and comes home to be unpacked. Website: triciaknoll.com
The Sign to Dream Café
The plane don't leave 'til midnight—
come with me today.
They'll be plenty of time to be alone,
at The Dream Cafe. – Doug Brown
Above the nailed-up cow skull, in the center of the multi-forks
of a sprawling sycamore, the sign tilts upward, and two ropes
offer climbers an assist to find a safe perch.
This tree serves as hub of this farm, a refuge
where children find a hammock, two swings, a pillowed bench,
welcome shade the size of a croquet field on a summer day.
The bronze sculpture of the roots of another sycamore tree
stands at Ground Zero in New York, a memory
of the ravaged sycamore that saved the windows at St. Paul’s
from what fell from the Trade Center. Two anchors.
Humans invest hope in spirit as vigorous
as plane trees, sanctuary from burning,
and roots that go deep.
©2016 Tricia Knoll
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