in what we have done

I used to hear god here

delight in her transformations,                                             I’m so sorry

day upon day

season into season,

now she is mostly quiet

nursing deep, fatal wounds

while I mostly grieve,

whisper apologies to the trees                              I’m sorry

toss offerings of acorns

into the beech grove,

a futile mea culpa                    I’m sorry


               I’m sorry

Photos & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.