Christine Phillips Poet Narrative

The Bamboo Tree

I sit beneath the bamboo tree with my head resting on my knees
I wasn’t sure what time it is but the sun had gone down and the
Birds in the trees were crying out; I sat there listening quietly to nature sounds and watching the bamboo dancing to the rhythm of the howling wind while I hum a woeful hymn of long ago about the dust and the bowl and the noisy owl. I sat beneath the bamboo tree with my heart laden with misery; I try to force a tender smile, but my heart kept moving with the tide, and the pigment in the skies disappears and rain clouds appear. I sat there until it was dark then I slowly made my way back to the yard. The mountain suddenly fell from my head when I heard the news that you were coming to the synagogue to bury the dead. At first, I thought it was a dream but when I saw you in person my spirit began to scream and everything came alive
Take me to the blue lagoon there is something magnificent that you have to see and when you wet your feet in the water, all the demons will get up and flee.

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