Son of no man
By Terrick Kobryan
I am the son of no man
but born of the earth, a product of my own labour.
I cast all the apples as far away as I could.
I severed the roots, clipped my branch from the trunk, and burned the tree.
I watched as the embers scorch the nest that lay amongst the leaves.
I cultivated the bed and tore away the natives that threaten to invade me when I sleep.
Tail to mouth, I implanted my very being into the dirt.
I sprinkled the ashes of my kinsman upon the ground to protect me in my womb.
I watered the soil with the blood of my ancestors.
I toiled, I slept, I grew...
When I crowned, the spirits danced and sang from the soil; my nativity.
I provided and produced for myself, earning every ring, every year.
I weathered alone against the wind that threatened to erode the ground from around me.
I am the oak tree!
I hold firm and wise!
Not the scythe of time himself could reap me.
Not some omnipotent being above could cut me down to form his crosses.
No guide could pull me from my roots and teach me about the stump that remains.
I am the falcon who perches on my branch, tamed and never to hunt again.
I am the sun which provides nourishment for myself.
I am the seed!
I am the fruit!
I am the son of no man.