Clinging To Life Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the humming gale
a spiraling
tree stem
shaven clean,
swings on and on,

but pushes off
another round
of scissors
and blade,

as wind still grips
finger holes,
and flexes blades

through the petiole's
fistful grip,
as it clings
to a stem's spine.

(ii)

But does petiole
hold its leaf
firm with glue
and crab hands,

or is the leaf
holding
the stony node
with rock hands

stuck like a pimple
well fed
with grease to grow
with deep roots
into a stem and stay.

Like a baby's grip
on a mother's back,
when a walking
mother loses balance.

(iii)

When a gale
flies with condor wings,
swinging
and plucking off
brittle twigs,

as it scrapes
feathery trunk bark
barking in vain,
as its dogs only die,

one green petiole,
clings to the sienna body
of a tree trunk
burning in the sun,

but staying
umber tinder that doesn't
crack in sun's fire,

as it cackles
in its rolling clefts
wearing

a cloak of hard wood
no fire of sun
can chew into graphite ash.

A leaf on petiole
clings to life,
as a trunk
in a sun's burning mouth
is not ground
into ash,

but weaves a coat
of hard charcoal
that thickens
into a shamrock jacket.