Mesquite Dust

by Clay Carpenter

I mimic the tree
reaching upward
fibers stretching
as I wobble on the ladder
the saw rasps
dust falls
a big branch crashes onto the grass
this unwise mix of chainsaw,
ladder,
gravity
and me
but I’m drawn to it
to mesquite
sweat
grit on my forehead
I squint to keep it out of my eyes
but it burrows into my hair
sticks to my neck
crawls into my shirt
good sweet dust
an elixir
a kind of proof
and the cutting feels right
a slow frenzy
of muscles and sound
but it angers the tree
this octopus
with its powder instead of ink
spits at me
drops its heavy wood
missing the ladder by inches
now I’m scraped
bloodied a bit
and the lawn
is covered with branches
the scene
of a tree massacre