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It's a Dark Wood

Our board chair, Colin Greer, recently shared with us a poem he wrote as a means for coping with feelings of futility in the face of our current cultural climate. During a time when many artists are asking questions like, "how can I possibly be a playwright? How can I spend time writing theater when there are so many practical things I could do…", it was a another welcome reminder that the catharsis which comes from both making and consuming art is far from negligible. We're grateful to Colin for sharing this poem with us, and we share it now, with you, as a testament to the healing power of writing.


It's a Dark Wood

It’s a dark wood

Of trees that cower before me:

Are you here to cut?

They must think that

          They must.

Truth is I'm lost

I was never good with directions

I didn't mean to get lost

          So lost!

Lost and angry. In my head a bird

Squawks: so if you're angry

          Clap your hands

If a man claps in a forest

And no one else is there does he make a sound?

          Do trees listen?

Do trees have ears to hear?

          Do trees have hearts?

Leaves are wilting…

          Do trees have hearts?

If you're angry and you know it

Clap your hands:

It’s a natural experiment.

Leaves wilt like the eyelashes

Of an abandoned baby

          Letting go of hope.

Does the trunk have enough juice?

          Will its heart fail?

          Will its ears hear?

Metal on metal is deafening.

I could throw away my axe

I could clap my hands…

          Clap! Clap!

          Clap! Clap!

 

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