Dendrophilia
“In her spare time she spends time with trees.”
Thus spake a poet in all her pastoral seriousness…
leaving me to wonder what she does with them.
Does she carve her initials in their bark
together with those of her significant other?
Does she tie a yellow ribbon round them all?
If she talks to them, how do they respond?
Is it possible she can’t see the wood for them?
Does she hug and comfort them for being rooted
and rising up, like a practicing paraphilic would
and simply pines for trees? She could even be
channelling Marvin Gaye’s sexual healing
when she finds herself amongst the trees.
Maybe she goes there on the lookout for a ‘woody’
though I doubt she’d risk a splinter. How could she?
Or does she regard a tree when she’s up real close
as an enormous supply of cellulose, future paper
on which to write her heartfelt odes, even though
among the trees it would be kinder to log into her laptop?
It’s possible she wonders at the lifespan of each tree,
and thinks about the myths of Myrrha and Daphne.
©2023 Tony Dawson All rights reserved.
Tony Dawson has lived in Seville since 1989. He has published in Critical Survey, Shoestring Press, online at London Grip, The Five-Two, The Syndic Literary Journal, Poems for All, Poetry and Covid, Cajun Mutt Press, and Home Planet News. A short story was published in Chiron Review, summer 2021.