Fear plants me into the ground, I can feel the cold soil stirring beneath my feet—in mounds, falling against my skin in waves. Each foot sprouts roots, and strong bark clings to my bare legs, my torso becomes a solid trunk. This steels my spine, no longer am I easily swayed. The sun touches my face and compels my long arms to reach–toward the sky, as I lift my arms, they harden dark and crack, in a frozen embrace with the sun.
I no longer cower when the rain falls—it brings me strength and new life, it cools my aches, sprouts my leaves, and sheds my excess. Renewed, I am sated to sleep for a decade, then time slows as my scars lap up rain and sun turning over their raw edges—beginning to smooth them away.
Spring showers wake me from my depth, shedding my leaves while I slept; now my limps are bare yet sturdy. Crumbling bark falls to the forest floor, as the soil beneath me tickles my roots. Rings of my trunk begin to peel away, burning with each strip– stripped down. I can move again, the urge to reach for the sky leaves me—my arms fall to my sides.