snag

snag

the lightning-struck oak
stood broken and brown
yet new sprouts grew
from the snag—
woodpeckers
squirrels, a raccoon
all found nests inside—
mushrooms and fungus
grew—zillions of bugs
burrowed and fed
this lively home

when life squeezes you
into a pinched path
or misshapen form
when ideas are blocked
or heart-dreams broken

walk out into the dawn
let the snarl of your mind
breathe moist air
go to the root of yourself—
the oak
brought down and reborn

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

I welcome comments and discussion!

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