A Poem by Ryan Hardgrove

The Cathartic Tree

 

tiptoeing around bodies

that feign sleep

on a damp summer carpet

near dawn

it is rare

to find myself

     the closest to sane

amongst the LSD children

napping fitfully

after the storm

as the sun cracks slow

somewhere outside and somehow sudden

sunflower yellow and fire-water pink

 

last night

she led me away from the firelight faces

across the fresh verdant yard

towards the wise old tree

nobody knew the species of

I spoke gently but with fervor

as she listened only to the syntax

for the gnarled branches above

spoke to the smoking indigo moon

and her seamless tranquility balanced

     my frantic romanticism

 

now morning

the night vacuum sealed

in poignant memory

my boots still resting beneath

the cathartic tree

white fluffs of sock

growing up out of them

like sweat laced cat-tails

 

I try talking to the tree again

but it has nothing to say this time

for the branches now house

an assemblage of birds

that vaporize

every premature thought in my head

with beautiful morning songs

of a day begun

and my mind

is hushed

into a blissful silence

 

 

Ryan Hardgrove is a published poet.  His consciousness has grown and meandered like a weed throughout his 27 years crawling upon this rock.  He now lives in a small apartment along the Ohio River, just two miles north of Pittsburgh, PA.  When he is not writing, he is tending bar downtown or pacing on his fire escape smoking cigarettes.