Poetry: Trees Through a Window by Christopher Johnson
Tress Through a Window
The trees are strange to me,
Standing in a monolithic array
Outside the window of the library,
Which is replete with paper made from trees
In an endless cycle—trees, pulp, paper,
As I stare out this enormous window,
I have a feeling of fragile aloneness
That is more than healthy solitude—
Deeper than that.
It’s not the nihilistic anomie that I felt in
My twenties and thirties,
Not so close to despair as that,
But the sense of each tree as self-sufficient,
Trapped in place,
Unable to reach out,
Wishing, longing for something,
A connection to themselves,
A connection to their bark-hidden souls.
Christopher Johnson is a writer based in the Chicago area. He’s done a lot of different stuff in his life. He has been a merchant seaman, a high school English teacher, a corporate communications writer, a textbook editor, an educational consultant, and a free-lance writer. He’s published short stories, articles, and essays in The Progressive, Snowy Egret, Earth Island Journal, Chicago Wilderness, American Forests, Chicago Life, Across the Margin, Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Literary Yard, Scarlet Leaf Review, Spillwords Press, Fiction on the Web, Sweet Tree Review, and other journals and magazines.
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