Wednesday, April 27, 2011


When my younger brother and I were kids, we loved to play on our parents’ queen-size bed. We enjoyed pretending we were trees that were about to fall. We stood on the foot of the bed and yelled, “Timber!” as we flopped backwards. The following poem is about how cutting down trees can bring change. It was published in Wordgathering in September of 2008.


We heard the workmen next door,
as we got ready for our day.
Lying down, we put on his pants,
one leg, then the other,
rolled, pulled, rolled, pulled
till they were up as far as they would go.

Sitting on the side of the bed,
we removed the sweaty t-shirt
that covered him while he slept.
His arm encircled my waist.
We tugged, laughed,
swore till it was over his head.
One arm, then the other,
it was off.

On went the sweatshirt,
one sleeve, then the other,
over his head it went.

All the while,
chain saws whined.
Branches and limbs fell,
bringing change, welcome or not.

Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

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