When in the falling
the feller cries, and the deep
of the tree is nothing but a cave now,
the ground becomes new
with trunked-bodies bathed in sunlight.
The woods mean nothing
to the trees—they live
as they grow, alone, into the sky’s white glove,
where birds may or may not stop
to rest, where they may
or may not sing to tell you the cage is not lifted.
I am tethered to you.
And when this life gives out at the roots
I will be here dressed in red, ready
to save you. I can’t help it; the feller wishes,
sometimes, he could reach out
with both hands
to catch the falling.
Alison Palmer’s work appears in FIELD, Bear Review, River Styx, Bellevue Poetry Review, Columbia Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She is the recipient of Poet’s Billow’s Atlantis Award, and her debut collection, Aren’t We Lovely in Our Suits of Armor, was a semifinalist for the Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize from Persea Books. Her chapbook, The Need for Hiding, will be released by Dancing Girl Press in spring 2018.