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Koan
by Beth Coyote
When a tree falls in the forest…
Last week, the horse chestnut let go and lay a flank across the fence
Underneath, lilacs, a gingko, two fiddleheads, an errant red tulip
She spread out, arms and fingers in the road
Elephantine body beside the porch
What a crack, a shrieking from her wounded sides
What is the sound of one hand…
Tree heart exposed, musk and rot
No warning, no letter of regret, no message of farewell
Neighbors stop their cars, sit at the curb
Survey the ruin, the sudden sky
Tell us we’re lucky
Who hears?
The universe has tilted, the bright living room seems wrong
Preternatural light comes through the front door
All the time, light flowing through the glass
Like an unwelcome messiah
Arriving from the airport, a week early
When we were still in bed
Beth has been published locally in several zines and has self published two chapbooks. She has two lovely rejection letters from The Sun. She was a member of the Garlic Gulch Poets, a south end writer’s group. She is currently an editor for Poets Against the War Web site.
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