Wild Woman of the Trees

Another tree inspired poem. This poem was birthed at the first meeting of the Red Writing Circle, an outdoor poetry circle for folk who identify as women. This project is being run with the lovely Poppy Jones – a fabulous poet and champion for women’s voices in poetry. The prompt was to find a space in the park that called you and write about how you feel. I chose to climb a tree, nestle in the branches and write.

Wild Woman of the Trees

When I was a child

Every tree was a possible grand adventure.

Gnarled. Smooth. Bare. Bending.

The trees beckoned and it was impossible to resist.

I would clamber, hang and lose my balance so easily.

But I was not afraid.

I was alive.

When I was a tame woman

Every tree was a possible accident.

Enticing. Forbidden. Lofty. Out of reach. 

The trees still beckon but my fear was stronger.

Afraid of falling, judgement and broken bones.

Keeping me frozen and trapped to the ground.

As if falling and breaking would cause all the darkness

To spill from my body and across the earth.

Now I am a wild woman.

Every tree is an ancestor, a guide.

Wise. Ancient. All seeing. All knowing. 

Aloft in the branches I am suspended, weightless

And at one with the bird song and moss.

My wild soul is singing 

And I no longer fear the fall.

I am alive. 

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