"Oak Trees"

A Poem

OAK TREES

These oak trees stare right back at me,
out of severed limbs that look like eyes.
Despite the wounds, they never cry.
It happened very long ago,
long enough for them to know
scar tissues over lacerations grow.
But still it comes as some surprise
that amputations give us eyes
to see a thing we couldn’t see,
whether we’re human or a tree.

Oak Tree, Santa Barbara Botanical Garden. Photographer: Susan Blanchard Plumer.