the best way to know trees

by Lucinda Trew

the best way to know trees is in winter

without the cheat-sheet of leaves

when arbor crowns fall to ground

and all you have are chalky outlines

against a gray forensic sky

 

that is when you must study silhouettes

unearth rootstalks, seek patterns in branches

trace the filigree of twigs, read bark like braille

understand the anatomy of blind-folded botany

 

you must close your eyes, take your time

search for signs—leaf scars and catkins

the weepy treacle of sap, chestnut knob

and honey locust thorn, inhale

 

for the scent of black birch, larch, cedar

that is what you do when all of winter

is unadorned, when trees aren’t trees at all

but stark cyphers of what they were

 

hieroglyphs before the fall

the cave painting aftermath of bloom

and virgin blush, when all that remains

is a tangle of seasons spent


LUCINDA TREW holds degrees in journalism and English from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Her work has appeared in The Fredricksburg Literary and Art Review, The Poet, Cathexis Northwest Press, The Bangor Literary Journal, San Pedro River Review, Kakalak, Flying South and other journals. She is a recipient of a 2019 North Carolina Poetry Society Award and a Kakalak 2020 Poetry Award. She lives and writes in Charlotte, N.C..