עץ / tree

so
the very next morning you taught me
how to be a tree
breathing deep & feeling
my roots the history of struggle
ancestors
who fought & died to get me
where i am
my branches the future
ahead
connectedness,
community
my thick trunk my core
from the outermost bulges
of my body i’ve fought hard
to love.

in the midst of 10 hours of meetings
before i even knew what i was feeling you taught me
to be a tree.

i didn’t forget.

so when ima came to me with tears in her eyes
and endless train of sigariyot
choooo chooooing smoke out of her face
i said to her,
ima,
be a tree.

and we stood together in the driveway
boxes of my things everywhere still with their fates undecided
under the mango tree
& i told her breathe this way and to feel these things metaphorically somatically
ima,
now,
breathe,
and let it travel the length
of your body,
and so on.

i said the words quickly nervously
as if i would screw up
as if you could forget words
that dwell now
in your bones.

& maybe she didn’t get all those poetic parts
about freedom fighting and all that
at least not in a way that we talk about anyways,

but there we were
two trees
under the mango tree.

so when i was curled up today
ready to disappear into nothing to di s i n t e g r a t e ,
& you came along and told me to be a tree,
in those familiar magic words,
it resonated
painfully,
angrily,

because today i am a different kind of tree,
roots dead deep in the ground it feels,
bark hardening on its way
to petrification,
crumbling perhaps
in places
a sad old face
carved
into me
as crumpled leaves
fall
around it.

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About mirit mizrahi

artist, writer, activist, giant. זהירות! אני מזרחית
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