I am the witness. I identify with the trees.
The branches bare.
Nests made apparent,
sky visible from below.
It is all so stark,
lonely, too -
as if the trees have been stripped
of their clothing.
Why are they shamed?
Is this a punishment
for some unknown sin
for which they must be exposed?
Nothing is hidden now.
Every limb tells the truth
of how it grew -
what shaped it,
its scars made visible.
Perhaps this is us,
the ones with grayed hair
and bent backs,
a testament to survival -
a forest of the wise.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
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Written on 2026-01-14 at 21:55
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Winter’s Witness
The leaves are gone.The branches bare.
Nests made apparent,
sky visible from below.
It is all so stark,
lonely, too -
as if the trees have been stripped
of their clothing.
Why are they shamed?
Is this a punishment
for some unknown sin
for which they must be exposed?
Nothing is hidden now.
Every limb tells the truth
of how it grew -
what shaped it,
its scars made visible.
Perhaps this is us,
the ones with grayed hair
and bent backs,
a testament to survival -
a forest of the wise.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 2 times
Written on 2026-01-14 at 21:55
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Melinda K Zarate Latest textsEarly LessonsWinter’s Witness A Measure of a Man Legacy Winding Down |
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