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The Fall by Ken Shiovitz It hovered above the hungering
hole, pendulant, Like deadened hammerhead of
steel sledge, One massive cylinder of
bundled cellulose, Supported by single
perpendicular side root, the Brown and scaly beached carp,
wrapped In dried, distorted
rectangles, with turned-up edges, Holding aloft a mass ten times
its diameter, A thousand times its weight. For twenty five summers, solid
Engelmann Spruce, while Grasping ever deeply into
highland sands, they uplifted From ocean bottom a millenium
before, and still without Anchoring boulder or even
toehold of clay, consistently had Repelled hostile downpours of
hail and of rain, Bent before storm winds
blowing in off the water, Distributed forces through
trunk base to roots, as it Grew massive and strong. Now it just hung there,
defiant and threatening, A face absent features, no
eyebrow, beard, nor hair, Nose, lips, and ears lopped
off by a chainsaw, Thirty feet of former trunk
neatly stacked in rounds, Every side root, save one,
shaved close to the stump, Huge taproot, dissected free
from loose sand, and Though clinging to life by
mere technicality, still it Flaunted a bone crushing
weight. But slow! Its final moments engender quiet respect, Distinct from fear of digging
beneath wooden wrath, Apart from professional pride
of engineer in Determining depth and slope of
descent, Contrasting with continuous
attack of circulating saw Teeth tearing tenaciously at
naked nape of neck, Rather, solemn silence
shrouds, as final heave sends Sliding stump of spruce to
rest. |
