one night

i met a wandering likeness

of myself

 

its hand stretched out before me

and beckoned me to stay

 

i wavered

wondered

watched

 

then as i saw the hand recede

from the tree where it had slaved

i saw my life

carved out before me

 

for a while

i merely stood

and stared

 

then as i turned to walk away

i looked back

toward the tree

and through the night

i strained to see

but saw no likeness

saw no tree

 

and what was it

carved on a tree

 

had it been me

 

yet surely i

am not just me

not just an image on a tree

 

and as i plodded on my way

unsure of what i’d seen

i wondered if that hand

that carved my life

belonged to me

 

yet if that hand was mine

and if that likeness me

had i not carved the hand

that carved the life

that had been me

 

for surely i

am not just me

not just the carvings on a tree

 

and so i wrestled

with a heightened sense of me

as not just image

but as carver of a tree

 

 

Charles Schlee, You Come Too.  © 2007, 2019.