ZARA MEADOWS
Commended - 2020 Tower Poetry Competition, 'Trees'
Treehugger, Summer 2005
Memory is wet ink, sticky to touch,
So that when you do, your fingerprints peel
And cling to the image, my dad’s toolbox-glue.
Memory is wet ink, underdeveloped,
As I am only two, my brain as soft as the
Bark I sink my softly swollen palms into.
Memory is wet ink, a permanent annoyance,
Brown-green stains on denim knees, arts and crafts
Gone wrong; no one ever told me what to do.
Memory is wet ink, wet branches after rain,
Sap slicked like baby’s hair post-bath, I laugh: oh, tree,
I don’t remember being born and neither do you.