Eyes, brain, nerves, frazzled from staring at black squares on a blue flickering screen for the past 9 months.
Barren.
The forest,
not far,
calls to
me:
Come.
Bathe in the cool shade
of our protective green
canopy covering you
with our leaves, springing
from the fingers of
our outstretched arms.
They long to blanket
you in shade and oxygen.
Look!
Our arms and fingers
point to the sun
toward life-giving
Light.
Our thick brown
bumpy trunks
beckon you to
wrap your own
arms around us,
holding on steadfastly
in the storms of Life.
Our roots reach
down
down
down
into the Earth,
grounding your
anxious spirit.
Your soul becomes
a resting nesting place
for the birds,
fluttering
aimlessly
in your mind.
Needing to rest.
And roost.
And be still.
So you may nurture
and faithfully protect
new life unseen,
within fertile eggs.
Now, like us, you are
stable and strong,
fragrant and fresh,
with the dawn of
a new day.
Your soul singing,
harmonizing
with the chorus
of healing
interconnectedness
with your sisters and
brothers of the
forest.
So bathe.
Breathe.
Luxuriate.
And listen
to the sound
of our leaves
gently blowing
in soft sweet
breezes like
constant waves
rolling on a beach.
The pulsating
life-giving
Wet Womb
of your
Mother Earth.
And be
Reborn.
Poem by Lisa Molina.
Lisa Molina is a writer and educator in Austin, Texas. She has taught high school English and theatre, served as Associate Publisher of Austin Family Magazine, and now works with students with special needs. She enjoys reading, playing piano, singing, and marveling at nature with her family. Her writing can be found in numerous online and print journals, including Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Beyond Words Magazine, Trouvaille Review, Amethyst Review, Neologism Poetry, Ancient Paths, OVERTHINK zine, and The Ekphrastic Review. lisalitgeek.wordpress.com.