A tree sprouts from the sole
of my foot, roots corkscrew
and tangle with my tendons.
Branches like calipers circle
my wrists, tiny leaves embossed
with my whorled fingerprints.
A necklace of tree rings
chokes my voice,
my shoulders droop, sag
under the weight of so many
Slowly, my skin grows black and gnarled
I oxygenate instead of inhale –
always on the verge of asphyxiation.
Squirrels nest into the backs of my knees.
The tree adopts my dextrophobia
both of us constantly shifting to the left
waltzing in clumsy
three-legged figure eights.