To A Fallen Oak Poem by MARINA GIPPS

Must be a dead body in this dead tree-
how it glows split open
like my comely head conjuring.
My beautiful hair, roots deep
in dirty soil, furthering away
from this withered surface.

It must be a dead body in this dead tree.
Its human teeth biting into the thick-skinned bark.
The tornado told all-broke down the stillness
like a full bus from nowhere landing in a forgotten town.

And now, people are returning
to find it, perhaps as I find it,
or never finding anything.
Ancient women, impervious needles to the storms,
as if knitting worry were a favorite pasttime-
petty thoughts downriver like the wayward branches of this tree.

Must be a dead body when the rescue squad is gone.
The aftermath in a lattice of limbs where
orphaned leaves tango strangely.
I cannot tell, but I only know,
there is a certain multiplication in the air after death.