pine needle

If I stare at the cage long enough,

I can teleport back

to when it was hammered-and-nailed.

Animal carcass

hibernating on the wall.

Selfish little creatures

kill other ones,

forget our coexistence

and let it wither. 

If we celebrate death so keenly,

why do we fear it for ourselves?

I think I was murdered in the forest in front of me 

in a life prior. 

What was that? 

There is tension hidden around the bark, 

I’m sought after like prey. 

Am I hollow inside? 

Trees french-kissing the cloud barricade. 

I am a pine needle. 

featured in Voices: The Literary & Arts Journal of West Valley College, spring 2021.