Trees in a Spring Cemetery


The Trees in a Spring Cemetery
Con/Jur/d, 4/27/2021

The trees,
around the gravestones
dip, swing, and do see do,
flourishing bright-yellows, pink-reds, deep-greens
oblivious to woodchuck burrows, filled with human
bones, even the elders sway, sending messages
of love, through the mycelium network of well
fertilized earth. The dead don’t bother to

follow the living home,
although, my mother told me they did,
if I walked around, walked around, walked around
the headstone whistling, whistling, whistling
three times.


she she sheee, One and a half, she she sheeee


sheee sheeee,  sh ssh

Two and a half, sheeee


Wait, wait, wait does that count? I stopped before I went all the way 
around the last time?”

“See all the pollen in the air? The way it changes the light? Those
are the trees whistling silently. You don’t need to make a sound for
the spirits to pay attention.”

I’m sure, I should shout ‘Boo’ 
for some, it would be enough,
but my age, walking through
this cemetery’s manicured
forest, feeling the sap flow,
it is more comforting, to know
when you ask the trees, they 
will tell you “You don’t even
need to whistle.”

Well, that’s it y’all. I thought I might do something different today and introduce you to some of the team (Well it’s more like a family), who made today’s poem possible, Our Editor:

Our technical consultant:

Groundhog accommodations provided by:

Guest Appearance by The Mycelium Network!

And special thanks to Bliss Sherwood, who reminds us that eventually, we all become one with the trees.

Con/Jur/d, 4/27/2021