by Angie Trudell Vasquez
Talk grows deep in bereft woods
no human hands to mold or trim limbs.
Tree friends decide “The People” are worth saving.
They call to the gusts their desires
and off go tiny helicopters.
Off go robins carrying seed.
Forests take over farm fields.
Thirsty limbs stretch to creeks.
Gossip in the wood root web say
hill cousins spring where land was stripped.
Children run under boughs.
Leaves wind in wind currents.
Folks do not mind scat squirrels, birds leave.
Trunks bend sway, leaf whispers meander:
maybe the Earth will not fade
if we keep weaving shade, and people can nap
under our branches on clear sky fair days.
Printed with permission of the poet.
Angie Trudell Vasquez (Mexican-American 2nd and 3rd generation Iowan) holds a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry from the Institute of American Indian Arts. She is the 2020 Poet Laureate of Madison, Wisconsin.