We are so much like the trees.
We mistake their stasis for imprisonment.
Our mobility for freedom.
But we too are deeply rooted.
Bound in place.
Conglomerates of electrons
And atoms, spinning ghost-like
Within the pre-determined orbits
Of our heart's metaphysics.
On the door of my house
There are no metal bars.
Unlike the trees, I escape daily,
Though thousands of years
Of evolution keep me here. Anthropology,
Brain chemistry. Maternal instinct.
It all makes me think of a chunk of tree
I saw once. Trapped like flesh
Through a chain link fence.
The tree itself, cut down. No longer there.
Just this remnant torso of itself. Forever caught
Growing towards sunlight.
Escaping through steel. Like me.
Imagining it could.