Getting Dressed
Click the play button above to hear me read this poem.
Getting Dressed
Clad only in white bark,
the trembling tree of early spring
reaches its branches up in the air
in anticipation
of the transformation.
A small child,
full of innocence,
standing in white cotton underwear
with arms stretched high,
waiting
waiting
for her mother
to slip,
first a frilly white petticoat,
then the soft green and pink folds
of an Easter dress
over her head.
Shivering only slightly in the breeze,
the tree,
with eager head held high in delight,
smiles
as the dress;
made of white blossoms,
pink buds,
and green leaves,
slowly slips over its thin branch arms
and swirls down to the knees
of its trunk.
Now, properly clad
in spring finery,
the tree sways
and looks over its shoulder
with a flirty glance
admiring its reflection
in a nearby pond.
Getting Dressed
Clad only in white bark,
the trembling tree of early spring
reaches its branches up in the air
in anticipation
of the transformation.
A small child,
full of innocence,
standing in white cotton underwear
with arms stretched high,
waiting
waiting
for her mother
to slip,
first a frilly white petticoat,
then the soft green and pink folds
of an Easter dress
over her head.
Shivering only slightly in the breeze,
the tree,
with eager head held high in delight,
smiles
as the dress;
made of white blossoms,
pink buds,
and green leaves,
slowly slips over its thin branch arms
and swirls down to the knees
of its trunk.
Now, properly clad
in spring finery,
the tree sways
and looks over its shoulder
with a flirty glance
admiring its reflection
in a nearby pond.
