Coconut Tree

I finished reading a piercing insight from Matthew Kelly, “I hope you are on your way to believing that you can be healed and become more beautiful and more loveable than ever before.”

As I steadily lifted my head from my iPhone resting on a table, my eyes became trapped, like a mouse in a trap, on coconut trees dancing in the wind. 

I watched.

I pondered.

What are these unattractive and uncolourful trees saying to me?

Crooked slender trunks whose skin like potholed riddled roads

Carved out by the feet of rats and humans competing for nuts.

Trunks decorated by irregular circular indentations

Remind me of the creases on the skin of grandparents.

Discoloured branches, like old worn-out hand fans,

battered by years of ferocious hurricane winds.

Dead branches sagging like aging human skin.

Hanging, yet still being battered by the wind.

These coconut trees tell stories about scores of hurricanes, tropical storms, and the Sahara dust plagues passing through the Caribbean,

each leaving behind evidence of brokenness.

Yet, despite the marks of wounded life,

They grow and gift us with . . .

. . . refreshing water

. . . healing and cooking oil

. . . jippi jappa hats and skirts

. . .ingredients for Jamaican rice and peas.

“Can someone who has been broken be healed and become more beautiful and more loveable than ever before?”