I was once a tree.
Standing over forest skylines.
I would gaze over the lush green carpet below,
Sunlight filtering through the canopy,
The morning dew glistening on my broad arms.
I dug my toes into the damp, earthen soil,
Mycorrhizae tickling my feet.
My soul, one with the ground, as I exhaled life into others around me,
And grew upon the past life before me.
As blue turned to orange and pink
Finches and robins gently perched on my arms.
Gazing at the sinking light, inundated by the crisp, cool night.
Only when I was a tree.

I was a tree.
Until the boats on rivers of concrete snaked around my legs.
Those around, hardened by the most intense of storms,
Toppled to their demise and were dragged towards the boats,
Ultimately to meet their master and fate.
The young, as well, uprooted from the haven of their parents,
Dragged to the boat headed in the ocean of uncertainty.
Our arms flailed and thrashed around until we were emaciated.
Our struggle was futile, since they hacked our limbs to immobilize us.
Our very skin was bruised by gashes from saws and axes.
Only our hearty body was spared, as we tightly packed on the bed of these boats,
Carried down the asphalt rivers.
Flooded by the sorrow of others like us.
Where it took us, I was unaware.
But I was still a tree.

I was a tree.
Before I was dragged into a room full of others,
I was surrounded by the remains of those before me.
Immediately, a wrenching pain climbed up my leg,
As my legs splintered to smaller strips.
What was left of me, a pathetic heap of matter,
Dumped into a vat of scalding water,
Mixed in with others like me and caustic sulfur chloride.
It stung everywhere, but no longer mattered.
Later, I filled a rectangular mold,
One that stole the identity of me and millions of others,
To become a single white 8.5” x 11” sheet,
Something that now defined me and erased my past.
But still, I was once a tree.

I was once a magnificent tree.
But now, a subject of my master.
My story, told at the mercy of whom I’m inscribed by,
Only heard through my master’s perspective.
I no longer commanded majesty like I used to
My body enslaved by the alphabet.
My voice squandered at the tip of a pen.
My screams drowned in ink.
But my message, five words scrawled into my body:
I once was a tree.