Tree Deep, Open Heart

Photo by Al Soot on Unsplash

I am immersed in the study of myths and archetypes. It’s like going back to a room in an old house where I used to live, and finding it is so much more than what I remember.

“It’s like my tree,” she said

as the green canopy outside the window filled her eyes,

“She stands so tall, so straight

because her roots go down past all the debris

from a hundred years of human park management —

They touch the darkest, most silent place,

the place where there is nothing more than True.”

With a smile, she unhinged her sternum from her ribs,

pulled her chest apart.

My eyes stung in the wraparound brightness.

I stroked her beating heart with my fingertips while I cried.