A Treachery of Trees | I Echo
after Demartravion “Trey” Reed
In the ride, I know I am empty. Alone
In my demand for what continues &
What will follow the treachery of trees.
All day I ride around with fruits juggling
In the playground of my belly. There is
Water on the floor, I carry thirst in a jug.
Outside, the trees have gone through
Gestation. Their hands now developed
In the threading of ropes. They have
Mastered their hunger, more so how
To harbor its decorum of dominion.
I try to avoid the lesson. Ride far
From the quarrel of birds amongst
This banquet of bruise. I probe
A door, & a hand meets me there.
It is all mine. This presence. This
Abundance of annoyance for the
Length of a journey. I am not alarmed
That we share a love of trees as much
As our hatred for this hour of agony.
To be full of love too is to decline
What gathers the birds. When
We switch mouths, we marinate
Our tongues, wounds dipped
Into spirit. We become the source
Of our bruises. There is no measure
For how much ruin a being can carry.
About the author:
I Echo (b. Chris Baah) is a Ghanaian-Nigerian writer. He is the Founding Curator of NENTA Literary Journal, where he also serves as a Poetry Curator. He has work in Mudroom, Ußwali, & elsewhere. He is also studying for an MFA at George Mason University.