little flames and evergreens

i. growing up is realizing i was the one who burned the playground


i am sitting on the fallen log
of a dead evergreen
that refuses to decay completely.
a little girl with hair like tree bark
and scraped knees sits next to me.
she just fell while climbing a sturdy eucalyptus.
grabbing each branch, seeing if she
could touch the sky, but
she wasn’t thinking about what it’s like
to
fall.

i can’t climb trees like that anymore.
the second i knew what falling was like,
i could never go back.

i hear crackling.
the eucalyptus park is on fire.
it really serves them right for being invasive
just like my thoughts that fill the air
of childhood innocence with smoke
that make me different from the kid next to me.

i hear sniffling.
the girl is attached at my hip,
crying that she’s been left behind.
shouting at me for being cruel.
i don’t know her. i should return her.
i look down to her eyes staring at me in abject horror.
they’re brown just like mine.
we glance at the matches in my hand and
i get a flicker of a thought to climb the tree
one last time.
its not the tree’s fault they’re so flammable
in such a fire-prone state.



a/n: eucalyptus trees, although highly fire susceptible, have fire-resistant seeds. they will grow again from the ashes.

ii. the sky is a backdrop for trees reaching it

i’m immobile seeing the solar eclipse of your eye.
like the moon getting closer at the sight of mine.
so intense, like i would be uprooted if you dared look aside.
i’m bereft you think they can get rid of me for life.
i’ve networked this soil, they can’t ride me of my links.
i’m here darling, i’m staying. you can go ahead and blink.

stop saying you hate the fiery blues which once belonged to your father.
you have nothing to lose.
they’re your own.
use erasure.
after all, you are the sun;
the fire in the sky that gives me life.
and as you looked, you begun to see, i have leaves in my eyes.
now, how helpless can i be when you stare in my eyes and say you love me?

iii. los angeles

i’ve been here
longer than they can imagine.
i’m the canopy their parents met under
as little children
running through the air i cleaned for them
so they could get home
before the street lights came on.
teenagers crudely carved their initials
on my side with a blunt rock.
first hugs, kisses,
the day he got down on one knee,
i’ve always been in the background
of their lives and pictures.
oh, if only i didn’t have to fight
through the la pavement;
maybe i’d be a prettier sight now
than a 1980s memory.
if only their bastards didn’t try to
suffocate me in a way that didn’t work.

i thought redwoods
were the tallest creation we could imagine.
but these city skylines
put them on the sidelines
with faster and taller products bearing names
that boast about making
the sky bleed.
they don’t think they can catch fire, too.

they’re repaving this
suburban city sidewalk.
without me this time and
without the ones who tattooed me
all those years ago.
no one will mourn this tree.
after all,
millions are cut down every day.

Loving your NaPo so far Fire - each poem is a fresh look at trees and humanity and life so far. One of my favorite couplets so far is in your first poem

its not the tree’s fault they’re so flammable
in such a fire-prone state.

Ah! There's a bit of an "inevitability" and combination of vulnerability and strength with trees and I feel that in your first poem especially. Looking forward to reading along the rest of the month too!

@alliyah thank you so much tree buddy!

iv. "even the bare trees have beauty when coated by the remnants of the prior storm” (a response)


maybe it was the green of spring
that initially drew you to me.
i really can’t blame you,
green is my favorite color.
then, as viridian turned umber,
i questioned why we stayed.
you at my side; me standing at all.

that’s when you told me you admired me most,
making it through each winter.
your eyes sparkle like snow most
when i’m bare.
i could’ve just died. but i don’t.

it was hope, i guess.
autumn arrived and i had to deaden
my outer beauty
to root myself deep
before summer’s heat
came for me.
all because i’d like to keep seeing you.
keep letting you climb me,
and sit under me,
and tell me secrets under the sky.

nothing worth having comes easy and
i’m pretty difficult (or at least
that’s what my mom tells me).
but to you, i’m worth it.
we are worth it.

Spoiler

actual a/n: the title of this poem comes from my wonderful serial killer. everyone say thank you for that amazing title
this poem was also a response to my work i wish you trees, and bandaged knees, and i wish you love

v. for a tree knows they will be cut down, but the cut down tree does not know what's ahead


i am writing my love letters
on processed pieces of pine pulp.
i hope i'm making her proud.
pretty and purposeful,
she's immortalized with pastoral ink
that chronicles professions of love.
she is pleased she was used like this
instead of turned into junk mail
that's doused in propane
and used as kindling.

vi. the library of us

all wasn’t lost in alexandria.
there’s a whole library
about the human condition
and innovation
and love
tucked in the back of your closet.
no one will find this forest of information.
keeping it close to our chests and
behind our lips
so no one can take it again.

we are the luckiest unlucky people.
you’ve lost me more times
than alexandria has burned,
but may the romans never find us
and the christians never hold a torch to our secrets.
the one fire that’s ever gotten near my scrolls
is the little flame underneath wax warmers
i use to seal my words so they don’t escape.
the only way they’ll get us
is to burn down your home.
but if they did, only the memory of the matter is lost.
our secrets will live in the smoke.

Spoiler

a/n: this is a sister poem to my work the 'a' in your name stands for alexandria

vii. isn't it good norwegian wood?

people can’t seem to fathom any way
to take me seriously.
i am as innocent as the day i came out
of my mother’s womb.
they never think i can have
fully realized anger.
don’t you know?
i inherited my mother’s rage.

nature is often spoken about
as a force (wind, water, earthquakes)
but the fire behind my eyes is
often man-made.
forests don’t catch on fire all by themselves.
dried leaves and charcoal accumulate in the pit in my chest
every time a man brushes me aside.
they tell me to stamp it out because
“i can’t handle the heat”.

they don’t think i can buy the matches.
they don’t think i can find their houses.
they don’t think i can light a fire and let it fall.
they don’t think i can walk away and watch it all burn.
it’s in my nature, after all.

Am I committing a terrible pun sin if I say these poems are fire? Because they are.

i can’t climb trees like that anymore.
the second i knew what falling was like,
i could never go back.

Oof. So true.

oh, if only i didn’t have to fight
through the la pavement;
maybe i’d be a prettier sight now
than a 1980s memory.

Really liked this one!

but if they did, only the memory of the matter is lost.
our secrets will live in the smoke.

Great ending line here!

they don’t think i can buy the matches.
they don’t think i can find their houses.
they don’t think i can light a fire and let it fall.
they don’t think i can walk away and watch it all burn.
it’s in my nature, after all.

I can hear this being chanted/sung so easily.

viii. there is a reason there are plants called sunflowers

its spring now.
every day i anticipate the mornings
and await the embrace of the sun.
plant life has the most intimate relationship
with the sun and its light.
leaves are open palms for worship.
mine are up, but alas
the sky is overcast.

but you have a smile that can make
flowers grow.
you are the sundrop that came to earth
to give us fire and warmth.
my stalk is slouching;
the nights are long.
what else is there for me to do?
i reach out to you and face the light.
at the expense of burning,
you give me life.