her mossy green carpet of an overcoat
ornamented with brooches of fig,
birds nesting in her wig,
body dot marked with knots
like crinkled brown liver spots.
rocks at the edge of the glade.
Seedlings picnic in her shade
laughing at the ants
that crawl up her wooden leg.
She sighs with the wind
at the gentle teasing of her kin.
A cackle like leaves shaking hands,
her boughs bending to the breeze,
never letting the cradle fall.
Frames of our forefathers hung
like steps of a ladder rung,
family portraits perched like
wallet sized photographs,
our names cut into her side,
bark scabbing them into permanence.
Saplings sip on rain that drips
from her low grown dangling fingertips.
She taught us all how to grow,
how to cup the sun in our hands.
– Kevin Kissane
Kevin Kissane is a queer, American writer. He is currently studying creative writing at the University for the Creative Arts in Farnham, England. He works as Editor for Paperfox Literary Magazine through which he shares his love of the written word. Kevin’s work can be found in his contributions to Gay Times, Jetunous Magazine, and Fairy Boy.