Waiting for––Goddamnit.

Time shifts imperceptibly and my only companion, this withered and lifeless tree that once could swell with life and leaves, hangs barren and sullen, more like a mirror than a plant. I look at its aching roots and pathetic foliage, watch it react lifelessly to winds that never carry it away, left to forever stand by this abandoned path, stoic and proud. As the days and minutes dissipate, indiscernible from one another, I consider the tree’s low branches––can they hold my weight for long enough? Likewise, the tree speculates if my swaying weight is enough for it to finally topple too.


About andrewwhiting

A sentimental and sarcastic poet, lover of language, traveling and nature (not a fan of the Oxford comma).
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