Was there always moss hanging
from those trees?
Did they purposefully hang themselves
from the highest,
sturdiest,
most supportive branch?
Did they make sure to leave
enough room to let their underside dangle,
waiting for passersby to touch them,
free them,
see them?
The wind brings life
to these stationary bodies.
The trees line every street,
every corner,
every intersection,
and they bring the moss along with them.
The moss clings the tightest
to the trees in the cemetery.
If you take a ghost tour
make sure it’s at night.
That’s when the moss changes
from pale green
to black.
Pay attention to the shadows
that these black bodies of moss make.
One person may see a tree.
Another sees a pair of feet.
I always see nooses.
No one pays attention to the hanging
moss these days.
In the corner of my eye,
I see the new shape the moss makes.
Its shadow is now mine.
I’ll hang from that tree.
TREY (TRALEN) RHONE is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Florida International University. Tweets infrequently at @TreyRho.
