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, 

Reader’s eyeballs. 

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, 

Some touch, 

Some connection, 

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.