Female Head

The first sound of the chain saw. Leaves around
the earth on alert. The man rigged the crane

cable to a large branch, then a whistle. I hear that
trees can distinguish their own roots from the

roots of other species. I wondered if the other
trees could feel panic underground. If the roots

lit up around the earth in a circle. If the tree could
feel the man’s legs straddle it. The way his legs,

which had just been elsewhere that morning, hung
down like desire flapping. And then the branch, as

large as a tree, fell off of itself, the self that it had
known its entire life. The crane held the branch

up so that it hung in the air. It swayed like a woman
hanging from a gallows. Exhausted from all the

kindling. I wondered how it felt to finally swing in
ecstasy only in death. To finally exit the frame.

To finally be able to see all the way down the tree-
lined street. To see that kind of light just once.