by ALLISON BORZONI
Your view is astronomical:
Arches, eroding pinnacles,
pine trees to the valley horizon
and you over them all.
King of Bristlecone Pines.
Your twisted fingers raised
in reverence to storming skies
who part round your clifftop throne
as they thunder and roll by.
Your crown is cracked with age
hollow trunk showered with shredded bark
And half your branches bristle green
the other half like frozen lightning.
But I won’t leave you.
I’ll sing lullabies as the snow shores up against our thighs,
my back to yours, against your twisted spine.
and when we thaw in mountain’s spring,
I’ll wind your trunk with wildflowers,
sleep in your cradle for the summer nights.
Some evenings we won’t sleep,
watching twirling stars and canyon shadows instead,
But once autumn falls into our laps
once we hear the whistling winter
I’ll offer you seashells who whisper
about the place all sand and little seeds will go.
–
Allison Borzoni is a teacher from California and Utah capturing her memories with poetry instead of a diary. Her work has been previously published in the Kolob Canyon Review and Belladonna’s Garden.
© Allison Borzoni
Halfway Down the Stairs 