“The Spartan’s Willow” by J. Lansbery


How is it

 

From under the willow tree

 

Where the ground’s dirt has perished flesh and bones

 

Among other irretrievables, there is no light.

 

I wanted to be an indefatigable Spartan.

 

I did not know hanging bodies left imitable shadows

 

On earth

 

Where elevation brought more than content:

 

An end.

 

The grain caustic, even the moon unnoticeable,

 

The Willow’s tendrils hover like a saint in prayer and

 

Cover all of my body’s flaws.

 

I wanted to be an unstoppable Spartan.

 

I did not know a hide out would shape a life, would

 

Let skin coil around bones of ash and stop a heart

 

Of blood and diligence.

 

But the pleading is the downfall that is the hanging

 

Leaves, the unseeing boughs that form the willow like

 

Veins, un-transparent.

 

The sun and moon are one now and I am unaware.

 

The curtain has fallen.