Look for her mark in the forest.
Inverted triangle.
Circle.
Downward
Prongs in centre,
With the second being the longest.
Fused together,
They become a mark
Carved deep into
One of many
Trees in the forest.
Thick mists
Of history
Doesn’t contain
Her name, face or back-story.
But yes, she does exist
Appearing whenever a short rush of wind & leaves blow,
Standing wherever trees stand,
On beck and call whenever harassed youth are chased
Down by other youth in want of an easy, whimpering target.
She offers protection—so the rumour goes.
The oppressed in need
Must stand in the woods,
Say these words
To summon her out of hiding:
From thee who makest me,
I shall come.
He who breaks me
Shall come undone.
She stood fifteen feet tall.
Unruly thatch atop a
Sunken-cheeked, eyeless gruesome face.
A pair of branches for arms. A dense trunk for a body.
Motherly instinct—a silver lady of sentient wood.
Long vines stretch out and
Strangle to make ye undone.
Now, stupid bully,
It’s your turn to run.
W: International Slavery Remembrance Day 2025
[Inspired by the short film and web series The Birch.]
Dee Allen is an African-Italian performance poet based in Oakland, California. Active on creative writing & Spoken Word since the early 1990s. Author of 10 books–Boneyard, Unwritten Law, Stormwater, Skeletal Black, Elohi Unitsi, Rusty Gallows: Passages Against Hate, Plans, Crimson Stain, Discovery and The Mansion–and 83 anthology appearances under his figurative belt so far. https://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/deeallen
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