In lieu of a better plan
I have decided
to be a tree
that grows down
instead of up.
It makes a kind of sense to me.
I will bury myself alive
in a lovely secret way—
only to bloom below the earth
and flower in the cool dark soil;
not for display,
but for the feel of it alone.
I will not bear fruit
or shed myself for fall
or trace the line of a sky that comes and goes as it pleases.
But, instead, reach out my branching fingers into the mineral oblivion
and find the keys from the beginning of time.
Ancient laughter has been known to serve as rain that way.
by Emily Trask
Emily M. Trask is a poet and theatre artist originally from Wisconsin. Her poetry was most recently featured in Summerset Review, and her essays, blogs, scholarly commentary and award winning play adaptations have been published by the Folger Library and Simon and Schuster among others. Emily received her BA in literature and theatre from Grinnell College, where she studied under poet George Barlow, among others. She received her MFA in acting from Yale University School of Drama. As an actress, she has appeared on stage and screen across the country, from the Lincoln Center Theater in New York City to the Tony Award-winning Alley Theatre in Texas, where she is currently a resident company member. Emily plays the cello, sings, rides horseback, and lives with her cat, Ramona Salami, in Houston, Texas.
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