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.

 

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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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