Violation

Dec 25 2019

Nothing artificial.

No tinselled plastic, gassing-off.

No, we must violate

the boundaries of inside and out,

bring a pagan tree

into the house,

redolent of balsam, pine, spruce.

Sacrificed

to rebirth, the return of the light

in the fastness of winter

the darkness of night.

How a living tree

succulent and green

soothes our inner animal,

the way being out in nature

restores the soul.

Even the unbelievers

are seduced by its beauty.

A slowly dying tree

brought inside the home,

its wildness, juxtaposed

with domesticity.

How well we are served,

the self-appointed stewards

given dominion over the earth

but who presume we are gods,

watching its branches droop

needles drop

verdant colour blanch.

Sharp scent, so quickly lost

to the stale indoor air.

I was out for a walk, ruminating on the last poem – Dead Tree, the one I had just finished writing – and trying to recapitulate where the idea originated. And recalled that I'd wanted to come up with something about the incongruity of a Christmas tree inside the house, the violation of boundaries between in and out it represents. And so, as I walked, the bones of this poem revealed themselves.

Perhaps it tries to do too much. There is this idea of violation, as well as the tree's pagan origins. There is the restorative power of being in nature. And there is the irony of celebrating life and rebirth by sacrificing a tree; which is in a way still alive, but also in the process of dying. And, to end the poem, a theme I can never seem to resist: an environmental message about man's hubris, presumption, and our defilement of the natural world. It also contains a dig at religion. Because I am the unbeliever. And the concept of man's dominion over earth, as conferred by scripture, has been conveniently interpreted to mean mastery, when it should more properly be understood as stewardship.