Without provocation, the leaves rise up
and fly to the edge of the wind’s border.
Whisper something.
Then three trees tear
up from the dirt cracking like ribs. Roots pried apart.
Naked, splayed.
A wet stench spreads
as leering neighbours teem.
One trunk leans, saplings bent
under its drunk weight,
suspended, double dared,
over the perfect house next door.
Mother runs horrified marathons
through horrified hallways
in horrified forests.
Asks me to tear off
bits of flesh from her
ankles and I do it.
Knotted fists, knotted branches,
knotted manes. A welcome home
banner snapping in the wind.
Splintered mother, folded
mother, lonely mother:
the fence is broken, the horses out
and charging down the road.