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The Dad Tree
The Dad Tree

The Dad Tree

LukeFannanLuke Fannan

Last night I dreamt that my Dad was a Tree.

Ring-barked, girdled and dry.

His funeral saw letters carved into his skin.

Poems, goodnights and goodbyes.

Branch-shadowed mourners were left gazing

Upon scars of mutual woe.

Instead of being buried, he was worked from the earth.

His tightening grip, no more.

Why bury memories when it’s easy to burn?

Destroy, move on, don’t cry!

In place of his roots, now ashes and urn.

In place of his shade, the sky.

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About The Author
LukeFannan
Luke Fannan
About This Story
Audience
All
Posted
26 Mar, 2019
Words
80
Read Time
<1 min
Rating
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Views
289

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