Growth Rings

A silly poem about holiday weight

Do you think that trees stand sideways

Look into mirrors

Lift up 

Their shirts and ask themselves

Well, where did all this come from? 

Do they contemplate their growth rings? Wish there were less? Count a burn scar as a blemish?

Or do they already know, in their quiet wisdom, that we get wider with life every year and this is the order of things

And why

when we can stretch to the light with our adorned branches 

and feel the tickle of a breeze or the tease of a raindrop on leaves,

stretch our roots into the fragrant soil like a cat waking up from a sun-kissed nap

Would we fret about our growing middles

When life is the thing

that made us

soft in the first place?