Palm trees dance together,
long thin trunks sway.
I, the bushy pine stand
in the distance watching.
I’m jealous of them.
So envious, I’m close
to hate. Betrayed. Surviving,
yet they are so high, looking
down upon me. The stress
is ripping my branches apart,
making me hang lower
then even I expected. My
roots clench as the sawyer cuts.
Timber!
Deidre Grotbo
