
Tossed aside.
I’ve been used so many times,
endured the burden
of enduring agony.
Now my grain is cracked,
my edges splintering.
I cannot grasp a nail.
Tossed aside.
If I had sap to weep
I’d weep. Instead, the blood
congeals in jagged rust.
I’m not alone. The man
whose life I finished last
now lies nearby:
Tossed aside.
His brow no longer bleeds.
My sap no longer flows.
We wait alone together.
We wait a day that I can bloom.
We wait a day that he can run.
We wait a day we are no longer
Tossed aside.
Photo of ‘ohia lehua by Eric Anderson.