It is a Tree

It is a tree
A bird
The sea
My breast
Their bodies
Small perfect shells

Sorrow entered
Our bed
Slanted Breath

Some day
Will you ache
Like I ache
Burl in the base
Of this tree

Rounded darkness
Right for
The only doing
There can be

My shell
That of an insect
A scarab
An etched womb
New shells
Drawn from

A scar
The dried
Of it
Pulled out
With the forest tide

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About the Author

Patsy Creedy lives in San Francisco, California. She has published poetry and creative nonfiction in several publications including Transfer Magazine, Dragon’s Leap, Inlandia, RCVRY Quarterly and Your Golden Sun Still Shines, an anthology of San Francisco stories. She has a memoir coming out in early 2021, ‘Without Her, Memoir of a Family,’ by Atmosphere Press. She was a resident at Dairy Hollow in the fall of 2019.

Patsy Creedy
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