BHS Inkwell 2017-2018

Temperate Broadleaf

By Megan Jameson

The trees call to me, A stationary paradise Calmly waiting for a friend To stay in its company The green is thick Compact with the sounds Of a thousand cicadas

Completing their lives’ work Each hiss adds onto another Creating an impossible atmosphere Of nostalgia and regret Unable to turn away I let the woods consume me Slowly eating away at what little is left of My unrested soul and tired self I am no longer part of reality My eyes are knots in the trunk of an oak Tender arms fall into branches A painted toenail now part of the soil Tangled hair transforming to golden leaves There is none of me left A hollow conscience decaying unattended My fate now sealed in the sticky sap Of a forest gone dry

Chaney Dupont

28