There’s actually a song by a Canadian parody band called The Arrogant Worms that’s called Trees and Rocks (or Rocks and Trees) that’s about the scenery in Canada, and how we’re mainly (you guessed it) trees and rocks. Anyway, it has nothing to do with this poem, other than my tangential brain. That aside, this was written while driving through the foothills of the Andes about a month ago, while I was “researching” for my thesis – there was a lot of graffiti on the side of the highway.
We write our names,
the names of our lovers,
on rocks and trees
that have already forgotten us.
Their skin is malleable,
but their memories are not.
We dig our nails into their bodies
because we know
we are already ghosts in their eyes.