JULIET SCHULMAN-HALL

Notes on Trees

We never look at trees
only the leaves
when they’re yellow
or rouge red
only see the fruit
some bear
call to their bodies
only when their limbs
swing into obstruction.

But they bribe us.
Bow in our direction
at a frequency too low
for us to hear
but enough for us to feel.
When we cry
we always flock
to forests
hear their condolences
feel them moan
as if the world
still belonged to them.

When we die
we bury ourselves
in apologies
dig into their roots
shovel ourselves
into boxes surrounded
by their bodies.
Sometimes we sprinkle
ashes along a shoreline
always swimming backward
begging for forgiveness.

Juliet Schulman-Hall is a graduate of Smith College, where she worked for the Boutelle-Day Poetry Center and received the Elizabeth Montagu Prize and the Elizabeth Babcock Poetry Prize. She is a journalist at MassLive and has written regularly or appeared in publications such as PBS’ Next Avenue, VTDigger, and Ms. Magazine. She has also worked for Orion Magazine and Meridians Journal, and has poetry forthcoming in The Quarter(ly) and Stonecrop Magazine. Based in Boston, MA, she spends her time biking, drawing, reading, and writing by Jamaica Pond.