My Father, the Mountain // post five.

My Father, the Carpenter, and I am Not a Tree.

I have spent my life apologizing

For having seasons of growth

and of dormancy

I never have time to become woody, I am too ever-changing.

Maybe if I were not something that required eternal metamorphosis,

My father would have looked at me.

He views my ability to adapt

As an instability

A grievous inconsistency

Maybe if I were able to be still long enough to become woody,

Then he would find beauty in me,

In my ruggedness

And my strength

Instead of being this stringy creature

That climbs and vines

And dies back to roots

During internal wintertimes

I sway easily in the wind,

It moves me around!

And I tremble and shake

Wishing for the ground

But then, I’m there

Beneath the soil

And only want the sun

Maybe, if I were tall

And cast shadows long

He’d believe I had a spine

He’d believe I could be strong

But I am just a simple vine

That flowers in the sun

I’m glad, because if I were a tree

Strong, tall, and proud,

He’d surely chop me down.

written January, 2025

This collection of blog posts will include poetry, retellings, introspection, and train-of-thought additions until I decide I have got it all out and can breathe. I recently published a poetry book which coincides — My Father, the Mountain — and you can find more information and follow the blog at http://www.faunalewiswrites.com