Poetry Porch: Poetry


Beech in the Public Garden
By Barbara Siegel Carlson

Its bare winter branches
hold the color of iron
only softer, the smooth limbs
spread wide. What would it be
to stand in one place
for a lifetime? So many breaths
rise through its branches.
And those names cut into the base –
whoever carved them
in some attempt to press
their mark into this world
where every fold and groove
trace memories and dreams
that have no setting.

Copyright © 2021 by Barbara Siegel Carlson.