Within Me Are Stories
Newtown, CT
2024, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
Within me are stories.
I hold a tale for each leaf and each limb
and each tale that was told once before.
Each ring is the cover of the previous, and a chronicle of its own.
A burly branch, singed and tattered, its dust jacket battered,
is so old it no longer ages.
So a newborn branch crawls up, using the sky as a stake,
then plummets… like a fountain suspended.
My eyes are concealed, but I see
others ambling past, with no more than a glance.
But occasionally, one strays to the shade
of my boughs and looks up, as if begging for a story.
I imagine their thoughts darting around on the wings of butterflies
until I begin to storytell, smiling invisibly.
Then the butterflies perch, tucking their thoughts between their wings
while my confidant stares, entranced.
My stories, carried by the crisp woody wind, woven in whispers.
Until, one day… a group in yellow approaches.
Instinctually, I contemplate which tale to tell.
Their indifferent eyes reveal
they did not come to listen,
but rather to bind my last story.
Sobs pour up from my roots, a gushing torrent that flows until the ground seems dry…
Frantically, I search for someone who will listen to my final story.
Your familiar gaze, your desperate tears slow my own,
as I recall the stories entrusted to you.
Memories manifest in my final turbulent plea:
Tell my stories.
My boughs will forever cradle you with warm shade.
Now you hold a tale for each leaf and each limb
and each tale that was told once before.
Slowly, deliberately,
they saw through ring after ring.
My body heaves and grieves
with the throbbing loss of tale after tale.
Did they remember?
Within me are stories.
Reflection
Writing is a form of expression with words, and I aim to use this powerful tool for environmental activism. Words are tremendously powerful for me to express my climate story, influence others, and make lasting change. Canadian wildfires caused by climate change, which fuel warmer-than-average temperatures and drought conditions, impacted my community approximately 1 year ago. This significantly impacted my climate story. This manifestation of climate change created a sense of feeling trapped. Everyone stayed inside and avoided any time spent outside, in what should be fresh air. In my community, the skies were dark, with thick orange haze for days. This climate change impact could be seen, but often what is occurring is quiet, like a silent story that we have to remind ourselves to hear. Maintaining wild spaces and trees are absolutely vital to clean air and absorbing carbon in the carbon cycle, from all of the industrially created carbon dioxide. Trees are incredibly important as a carbon sink, but when the Earth is home to 3 trillion trees, it can be hard to see the impact of cutting down just one. For this reason, I chose to write on a more personal level, from the perspective of a tree. This poem is inspired by my story of a specific tree that I had a strong connection to. When I learned that this tree was going to be chopped down, I was grief-stricken. I originally wrote this poem to express my specific story by memorializing this tree. But more importantly, this poem has an activist slant that can inspire a broader impact in saving trees in the future. I hope my poem will help to show the world that each individual tree is precious, and every time a tree is cut down, its stories are lost. In my writing, I hope to have an emotional, yet positive, connection with the reader and listener. My art demonstrates how critical it is to understand the deeper story and often unseen significance of how trees impact our invisible atmosphere and, in turn, our climate.