The Arms of the Tree

 

I want the arms of this tree

To hold me so tight that it stops my breathing and my brain and heart slows for a second.

To hold me so tight that even if I fight to go, it just won’t let me and it tells me to stay.

To hold me so tight that it renews my breathing with new oxygen it produces. 

To hold me so tight that, eventually, I just rest there, still… waiting for the apple to fall on my head in a late summer night. And the skies and the weather change around me. And I’m still there, and the tree is still there. 

I want the light of this moon, to be like the light in your eyes when you look at me. 

Not necessarily as bright as the stars, but at least the reflection of my own light and proximity to you. 

I want to feel the multiple branches embracing my fears in the stillness of the night… so my body finally feels safe. 

By Margarida Ventura