As Told By the
Wood Elves
The
Trees keep secrets. They steal, as well.
It
seems unlikely that they could or would.
Oh,
do not be misled by their majestic height and verdant crowns.
From
their towering posts, they silently secure their desires.
When
rainbows glow freshly after a storm,
those
ephemeral and elusive prisms,
the
trees wring the sky with their boughs
and
lap up the Yellows, Blues and Purples,
collected
in the basins about their roots.
We
see the roots run deep and long into the soil.
However,
they strip colors from flora and rocks alike.
“Lend
me just one more,” the trees beseech the soil,
glistening
with crystals and minerals.
The
trees wraps their roots around the forest’s foliage in a covert embrace to sip
the Green from the stems.
The
Wood Elves bring their axes to fell the trees.
When
the tree breaks, the bootleg of colors,
woven
through the rings, is revealed.
Its
garish core is exposed, and the lumberjacks rejoice.
The
Carver walks to each log from the great trees.
He
closes his eyes, and lays his ear next to the timber.
Does
it sing? Does it hum? What does it request?
He
runs his hand over the log to feel the vibrations.
He
nods his head in agreement and carries one piece away.
He
splits the log,
shaves
the bark,
hacks
away the excess,
listens to the instructions.
The
wood is rolled, refined, and defined.
until
the jagged edges create a hollow.
He
finely chisels a smoothness in it. The tree never knew.
He
rubs until a bowl yawns from the block.
He
polishes it into a round sleekness.
The
Greens and the Reds shine with a hint of the Gold.
The
Blacks and Browns evoke the deepness of the earth.
The
wooden bowl will not remember its days under the rainbow.
Its
duty is to hold, bear the desires of others.
The
sawdust is returned to the forest, tossed into the soil,
so
another tree may summon these secret colors.
©
2017 Ashini J Desai All Rights Reserved
This poem was selected for the Pennsylvania
Guild of Craftsman for an ekphrastic poetry exhibit where poets were paired
with an artisan's work. I was assigned a handmade wooden bowl, and I was inspired when the artist explained he use Rainbow Poplar wood. I never heard of this wood, so it immediately triggered an image for the poem.
Then I spent some time watching Youtube videos
to understand how they even carve bowls! The artist (Bob Antonishak) was impressed I got
into the details, but basically, I had no idea about the process so I needed to
watch. It seemed like wooden bowls appeared magically anyway.
*Note: The image above is a rainbow eucalyptus tree, which has more vibrant colors, suitable to accompany this poem.
