Bauxite Tree

Time is the overgrown tree

thin prickled leaves

hiding amongst tick-tocks

in the gritty—silent—forest

Trees pull their weight

across red dirt roads

and fallen mangoes

tomato fields and cucumber fields alike

rope through metal refineries

and open-pit mines

Time sees the red hill

and the red roofed dome of a bauxite mine

Unlike bamboo walls

falling and rising

like the sun before a thunderstorm

the red hills lie amongst the green

like blood threads out

from the base of a papercut

or from underneath dry stalk

of a scab

Do fruitless stems and bleached branches on pear trees

cry out in symphony at the caress

of wind across their leaves

pretending the hour

is fleeting through a minute—

Are the trees pulling at their second hand

like they strip away at aluminum sheets

overgrowing this bauxite red dome

with thin watchers of their own

Alesha Burton (she/her) is a queer black writer who enjoys writing poetry and short fiction relating to generational experiences and an ever-changing view on life. She also loves comics, listening to music, and motorsports (she is sadly too obsessed with this one).