Bio Note: Hi, I'm Lydia; I am an eighteen-year-old writer with a passion for poetry, painting, baking, early childhood education, and music. I want to try and learn a bit of everything. I write poetry simply because it's always inside me and helps quiet the noise in my head. Previous publication credits of mine include my poems "Hymnal" and "The Waiting Room," which have been published in Cathartic Literary Magazine.
Looking into Trees
Walking in a cemetery when I’m six after the thunderstorm among gray slabs like frozen mice— trees sprawled, dead, inert gaping holes, raw roots. Sometimes I remember the death of the everliving trees and transient, fragile humans, their bones laid underground like tiny pianos everywhere playing the anthem of soil, rain, tangling roots becoming the music of all that could never be. Looking into trees, gnarled like old people sparkling emeralds catching a quilt of summer lights lightning, like truth, strikes the tree— the home of its secret self— flat as a fallen dancer to that strange ground. A tree is made to live forever—why should it fall and all those little meaningless graves, which signal decay, rest untouched? A name, a stone, the caress of carnations and angels with golden flutes— is this death, or a newer, stranger sort of life? Even a grave is still a self and I will raise my hands like the tree I’m bound to become feel wisdom smile on me through a parcel of skies. Oh, anchor me to the ground and bury my weary kisses in stories when the storm meets the tree set me free.
©2022 Lydia Quattrochi
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