Tonight's Poet Corner: I Ate A Tree

I Ate A Tree
by Belinda Roddie

I ate a tree. I literally ate a tree. I
stripped the bark off its body with my
sharpened teeth, and I
chewed at it like it was gristle. I tried a cluster of
bay leaves as a side dish, but it made me
crave for pasta with marinara.

If I looked hard enough, I could spot
tender sprigs of sap crawling from the
raw flesh of the trunks where I
satisfied my hunger. I sucked away at the
sweet knotholes, thinking of maple syrup and
shortstacks, glistening with kitchen dreams.
The berries scattered in hateful hordes were not
edible in the least, instead dangling like
forbidden jewels to take from the trove. And

before I slept, the crisp cool rain
made a puddle in the mud,
where I lapped up the earth until it grew
molten, and bubbled, and erupted, and the
landscape became lava rock and
I was left with pangs.