On Receiving Bad News

by Annette Snyckers

Yesterday I saw the trees in conference
deliberating among themselves.
They stood tall,
waved their limbs as if,
with a rattle of Eucalyptus leaves,
they were discussing a serious issue.

Later came consensus, resignation —
they swayed in unison
and droned on in the keening wind.
There was a sighing
as the fluttering flicker of their foliage
caught the afternoon sun.

They stood their ground,
did what trees so often do:
They stood in for how I felt.

Relocation

by Annette Snyckers

I think of trees,
mute beings,
reaching for the light,
how we cut them back a bit,
dig around the roots
to lift them out of settled soil,
plant them in another spot,
pamper them a while,
mostly they adapt.

I think of people,
babbling beings,
reaching for the light,
cut back,
moved from settled soil,
not pampered,
mostly they adapt.

But some
do not embrace the soil
do not sprout new roots,
do not endure.