Monday, September 12, 2011

Grandma Cottonwood

If faith is arbitrary,
Let it be. I'll choose my own.
I'll make it ridiculous,

I'll make it feckless, shameless,
Pointless to proselytize,
Too damned absurd to believe,

And serve as my own martyr.
Why not? I'll worship a tree.
Not just any tree of course

But a grand, unusual,
Great tree, personal to me:
The cottonwood up the road.

I'll anthropomorphize her,
Treat her as both family
And all-knowing matriarch.

My prime article of faith
Is that She listens to me,
And responds to me in signs.

She watches me and helps me.
She created my whole world.
Her shade and my faith are one.

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