Forestry – Ruth Irwin

Forestry
Ruth Irwin

The great redwoods of my childhood
Are rotten. Their ignorant branches
Crashed like drunk-driven cars,
Creaking to ignominious death down
Wound country lanes, felled by
Mere weary worthlessness.

Stringy saplings now are left exposed to
Frost, to time and mundane
Personal infamy.

When does pruning become self-persecution?

Perhaps this pain is better. Knowledge, even
Of inadequacy, must surely trump the
Deadened center of an old deluded soul.

To weep for what you’ll never be beats
Not needing it at all.

__________________________________________

Ruth Irwin is a London-based poet currently studying History and English at Queen Mary University. Her poetry has appeared in MAP poetry magazine and Spilt inc.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s