Cathy Douglas lives with her husband and two sons in Madison WI where she works at an independent book and gift shop. She thinks of herself as more of a rabid poetry fan than a poet. To see more of her work, visit her web site. This poem is a tour de force of imagination.
A Tree Without Glasses
By Cathy Douglas
As if some delicate hand
sponged ambivalent green
paint on a clammy sky;
as if the wind tossed a salad,
and somehow the lettuce fell up.
Restless impressions create themselves
from the shifting rustle of shade,
move with the epic dance of clouds,
then shuffle toward further uncertainty.
Here stands an old priestess, whispering
a song into fermented summer air.
Her rough skin, steeped in decades
of frankincense, creaks and moans
as she stretches seven arms
to her gods. Feet buried, she looks
in my direction with hundred-year-old
eyes that find my own ambiguous outlines.
If this is only a back yard tree,
how do uncensored eyes have other ideas?
What meets naked vision might
as well be my lady's half-blind sacrifice—
a herd of green buffalo,
thundering upside-down against
the roof of heaven.
You've painted quite an interesting picture.
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Cathy: This is a beautiful and complex poem...your words display movement and images.
james
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