Polish Forest

I hear a forest /
out of the wood paneled wall /
and see a hut /
likely a wolf crossed the path. /
My grandmother lay in the snow /
that up the window piled /
urging my mother /
to escape /
into those woods /
letting the people stick /
like mushrooms /
to their roots.

On the day
when my mother
of her frightend palness
the trees bark
will shed
Should I be born
the pines grace
of the silent polish wood
will put
a birthmark in my soul,
I hear a forest
out of the wood paneled wall
around my bed.