Women Trees

The hidden flowers Are bud breasts Waitin' for their colored bloomin' In cups On the tree old branches. The moss growin' on its trunk Is a green thigh On its thin old cracked crust Havin' swellin' whitish scattered areolae. The buzzin' bee in its honeycomb Is the voice of its heart lettin' out its sorrow, While it is Aerating its roots with softer mysteries Growin' up above the ground. Its knee roots allow the inflow of life To the fibers. This tree is, in fact, A wooden woman statue In my vision. Poem by Marieta Maglas