Poetry Fishbowl Open!

Wow. I was thinking of the vague hourglass shape that I noticed earlier. But when I took a closer look -- there she was, in considerable detail.


"The Dryad in the Garden"


I went with my college class
to the botanical garden
so we could photograph the trees.

I was researching bark patterns
and trunk deformations
as signs of disease.

Suddenly, there she was in front of me:
between her legs, a leafy green branch
sprouted and arched off to the right;
above that, her hips flared,
then narrowed slightly to her waist;
her left arm was raised over her head
as if beckoning to me, her face in profile
towards the bend of her elbow there,
while her hair rippled down on the left.

At first I tried to pretend
it was all my imagination – too much sun,
perhaps, or not enough water – but
then she moved,
stepping out to catch my hand
in her hardwood grip.

“You will serve me,” she said,
carving her words on my heart.
“Too long your kind have taken advantage of mine.”
She tossed her brown-blonde hair and finished,
“Now you will be for the trees.”

And so I am,
but that doesn’t mean
I’m not getting anything out of it.

Why should cryptozoologists have all the fun?
Call me the first cryptobotanist,
scholar to dryads.

The ancient Greeks would understand.

As for my professors?
Well, they say a picture’s worth a thousand words.