Hedy Habra
Or What Does a Tree Know About Aging?
You’d think me impervious
to my surroundings
little do you know
of my inner struggles
anchored deeply
in strata swollen
roots protruding
petrified pillows
bearing traces
of endless processions
insects’ footprints
antennae probing
every crevice
the slightest orifice
a witness to fallen
leaves transparent like lace
skeletal nervures turned
into butterfly’s wings
decaying flesh
too many skins shed
layers and layers
of debris pelage encrusted
inside fissures
muffled voices
instants when time rests
sounds of crackling
pine needles under
footsteps resin sticking
onto fingers, sighs
in stark darkness
age is often equated
with wisdom
I equate it
with survival.
Hedy Habra has authored two poetry collections, Under Brushstrokes, finalist for the USA Best Book Award and the International Poetry Book Award, and Tea in Heliopolis, winner of the USA Best Book Award and finalist for the International Poetry Book Award. Her story collection, Flying Carpets, won the Arab American National Book Award’s Honorable Mention and was finalist for the Eric Hoffer Award. An eight-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, her work appears in Cimarron Review, The Bitter Oleander, Blue Fifth Review, Cider Press Review, Drunken Boat, Gargoyle, Nimrod, Poet Lore, World Literature Today and Verse Daily. Her website is hedyhabra.com.
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