(free-written poem) Written by Tansy Gunnar
Originally published 11, September 2025 on an archived site, Hollowed Happiness.
She tripped over the words of another,
A faceplant to the ground.
Ink line drawings of roots,
Crawled along, slithered, while they gnawed…
at her weathered boots.
She kicked, twisted and tangled,
the word roots bent around her ankles.
In circles she spun,
Looking in all directions.
She was stuck… watching reruns on repeat
Wondering,
Was this person like me?
Determined to make sense of it.
Round and around they’d go…
On and on about,
something called love?
Something she didn’t know,
if she’d ever known.
Cowpie frisbees
Football after dark
Small town specialties
Bird dogs, bark
She looked high and low,
Searching for an elusive thing called love.
Conclusion…
It’s illogical and makes people dumb.
Traps them in an illusion,
Induces confusion,
Unless two complete halves, blend in unison.
Still she wondered…
Are any others like me,
Healing from PTSD?
She hurled another makeshift frisbee,
At a haystack in inky forest pastures.
Targeted words painted in gray, “We’ll see.”
She’ll wait, improve aim, maximize splatter.
She practices in silence while others chatter.
One by one, they wander near
to leave a scar,
Or some other mark?
Each was swallowed by the ink blotted trees.
For some reason, here…
The forest roots run deep, and free.
Crows caw
Crickets chirp
Salamanders crawl
across dampened, leaf covered earth
She asked the wind,
Will anyone ever love me?
A breeze rustles amongst the trees,
As if they tried to speak.
The only words she could hear were, “we’ll see.”
She took aim, tossed another cow pie frisbee,
To analyze the circumstance of debris.
Perfectly Human 