Loss of a Tree

Long-time visitors to "Chosen Words" may recall having seen today's poem before ... way back in 2005.

At that time it was ... as are many of my poems ... part of a manuscript in search of a publisher. Well, it has found a publisher ... or a publisher has found it, I suppose.

"Loss of a Tree" is in a small collection, Wood Smoke, which is scheduled for publication by Finishing Line Press (remember Chance of Rain and Hollyhocks?) later this year.

So, this is not really a summer re-run ... though I suppose it could be considered that ... but a sampling of things to come.

The poem:

LOSS OF A TREE

Streets, the inexorable ooze of cities,

were already there when you arrived

to be ritually planted as recompense

for what had been stolen from the land.

Thus began life among strangers, thirst

of confinement, trimmings when you

reached for wires, the salt-laden spray

of passing cars, signs tacked to your

trunk, bark-scarring injury from a van

run amok. Despite abuse, neglect, you grew

through recession, depression, ebb and flow

of fashion, through those times called

war, interludes known as peace. You grew

over the curb, began upending sidewalk,

but provided shade for strollers, let fall

showers of crinkled leaves for children

to go kicking through. Finally, when winds

tried to break you, but, failing that,

uprooted you with a horrible groan, you

took with you an anachronistic jumble

of flashing trolley wires and lay, silent

and dying in the street, waiting for crews

to gather you up, truck you away, leaving

only your winged seed, scattered and golden.

©

2005

(from Wood Smoke, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press)

***

Today's word:

inexorable

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thank you, Helen. I'm glad you liked the poem. As for Wood Smoke, I think I caught a wisp of it on the horizon just a little while ago ... so please stay tuned. Best to you, too.