Arbor Vitae

September you fed on the living wood,
October that idol grew from the bone,
you danced November clothed in the branches,
watched with her the longest time,
freed the prisoner of hand-me-downs,
saw her ash-blonde turn my red-gold,
knew I was home and desired to be,
March the bridegroom rode out of the tree.
Page 66, Poetry Ireland Review Issue 28