Page 26 - Contrast1998

An Ex-Dryad

What makes him think I dream of him?
The swish of breeze--my leaves unkempt
sing my song to the sun, not to some
silly two-legged beast; he cannot have dreamt
the world I know: my young trunk slim,

drawn deep into the growth-warm earth,
my eyes a thousand shimmering leaves.
Yet now this tall young man has come,
and sprawled beneath my branching smile he grieves,
declaring to my roots his love, my worth.

I laugh with windblown mirth at such
outlandish words wept from his heart,
but my sap resounds with deepened thrum,
and thickens stickily inside. He starts
a rough-bark shiver with his touch ...

With unexpected fear I hear him speak
a word with too much magic cadence.
The world topples--screaming dumb,
leaf-blind without a second sense,
my vision forced so feebly weak

through two narrow jelly-orbs of pain.
Agony throughout, sap thinning, I break
and shatter into clammy flesh, taut as a drum,
my trunk torn to twin stalks of ache;
naked, unprotected from the rain.

Consolidated terrible within,
all that was me now sobbing for release;
as he exults his triumph, I am numb
and fall to burning stumps, new raw knees
to earth, dirt rough and hurting to new skin.

On two shallow feet, his human lover fair:
what made him believe I wanted this?
I cannot forget where I am from--
I dream with weeping leaves for a moonlight kiss
and miss the feel of birdnests in my hair.

Joy K. Hoffman

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