The river holds a boat,
a canoe,
a drowning man.
The boat motors away.
The canoe slips past
with a swish-slap of a paddle.
The bent bough of a tree sways, stoops
to reach him.
He grasps the rough bark
of the living branch—
and lets go
of the splintering soft-shadows
of the speedily dying
fading toward the light
who’ve no time now.
Reaching shore, will he
sputter curses
at his fellow man
or praise the Creator
in the helping hand
and become a palm-giving man?
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
“…only God can make a tree.” - Joyce Kilmer