Chicagoetry: Arterial

ARTERIAL

Willows on the lake weep always
but all trees weep in winter.
Hearts hanging in reverse, denuded,
x-rays of arterial globes,
street by perfectly straight street.
Like the oldest cities on earth,
this one's a grid,

baubled by these naked, hanging hearts
forgiven by gravity.
In a blizzard, abandoned Harrapas.
In a heat wave, undulating Calcutta
or perhaps teeming Rajagriha.
Wait: the naked trees

are gnarled hands
grasping for sky
from tight graves,
wave after wooden wave.

And they weep in waves.
You can see the tears freeze,
then hang like crystal men.
No privacy for trees, or tears.

Ice men hangeth and dead limbs
bangeth to the curb, little corpses
shatter into spinning diamonds
en-fanging the public thoroughfares.

God: life limbed by freezing death,
life enlivened by looming shards.
Soon the tears will bloom, warmly.
The moments will accrue, it's true,

toward a louder lingering.
Soon the trees will sing.
All year the willows hum,
sniffling a bit as the gales come.

Without end, this is all Hell.
It is the end that sparkles in tears,
for the tears will end (for a time),
but the trees will keep reaching,

reaching.

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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

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More Tindall:

* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

* Kindled Tindall: The Novel

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