Willow Dome
on pliability
When the ground thawed, we dug twelve holes
And plugged them with willow saplings
Each stick straight and narrow with
Seeking baby branches holding their light-eating mouths
Arms spread like crucifixes, perpendicular as they grow up, up, up.
*
We bent them with twine, fingers surely twisting
Green wire under their tender armpits, pulling
Them together over years. A slender trunk
Slides beneath the flexing bow of another
And a lattice forms, over years, into a leafy dome.
*
Sit with me in the shade we grew
You're as green as they come
Bent and woven too
If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you
Everything's serene in the willow grove.
*
About the Creator
Ian Lund
I write about the little moments that shape our relationships. I'm studying character-driven fiction and writing a speculative fiction book exploring modern technology, addiction, and hope. Brooklyn-based.
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