Birthday Poem by Jenny Kalahar

Centered in my personal stand of trees
familiar birds land high and near
unknown animals creep to the front or sit beyond my view.
I'm trusted to do my own breathing
my heart its own beating
brain its own consideration,
my feet walking everywhere
hands touching tentatively

My forest behind is filled with wrong turns
paths not taken
congested fog
lonely rain
beasts of burden
signposts, guides, helping hands
lovers' initials
poetic forms
and musical streams

My oaks and maples,
unpolluted trunks in greybrown,
greens swaying above,
allowing me suggestions of the sun.
They are solid, standing, living things,
but already there is the faint roar of chainsaws
not so far along this crooked lane
cutting off years I might have had
with different DNA.
Unseen workers change tree to wood, to lumber
to guitars and park benches
piers, fences, birdhouses, life-sized carvings
of what I used to represent

My soft-feathered blond and auburn,
grey and brown familiar birds swoop away
to sit on manufactured parts of me,
seeking a more permanent perch by far
than these pale, flesh-wrapped shoulders can provide