My Weeping Willow

My Weeping Willow
I come to the old park
at dawn,
when the sun is tender
and people are sparse.

I don’t want them close.
I fear they’ll sense
the shame and rage
seeping from my pores.

No witness.
No words.
Only pavement,
and jagged breath.

Somewhere between miles,
I start to see the trees—
standing
in stoic stillness.

And I remember.

How they stretched imperiously
toward the capricious sky—
beacons of fragile hope,
laced with swing set dreams.

Then that day…

He aimed for the trees—
he wanted to end my life there,
for my womb to be
where my unborn
son was buried.
But we were spared.
The earth held steady.

Now I run—six miles,
every day.

Blistered feet press
through flooded trails,
scorching summer heat,
and bitter winter wind
that exhumes
hibernating grief.

I run—
to feel the ache
in heart,
in muscle,
and bone.

And when I’m done,
I make my way
to the place
where branches bow.

I sit in the crook of its ancient roots,
leaning into its weathered trunk.
Sunlight cannot find me,
veiled by its age-old leaves.

My fingers brush the humble bark,
grooved with endless stories.
I follow the dented knots,
tracing the shape
of every season.

Its body is broad,
anchored deep in sacred strength.
As it rises, it unfolds—
skyward arms,
bending and twisting
in a graceful survival dance.

This tree is not like the others.
Where others reach away,
my Willow reaches back.

It weeps with me.
It speaks in wind and sway.
I close my eyes.
I breathe in:
damp soil,
a trace of green,
lilac on the breeze.

The scent carries
what the miles can’t mend.
In the gentle, shaded hush,
even angels take root
when the ground needs them.

Someday,
when my running ends,
I will be laid to rest
beneath my Weeping Willow—

Ashes to root.
Grief to ground.
Home.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace