Loss of a Tree

This just in: Last night I savored Julie Moore's excellent reading of my poem, "Lattes for Two," as it was aired on the WYSO program, "Conrad's Corner." And now, if I've hit all the right keys, you may simply click on the link below to hear her reading of it, too:

http://cpa.ds.npr.org/wyso/audio/2012/01/JAN_31__ROBERT_BRIMM__LATTES_FOR_TWO_(JULIE).mp3




Today's photo is one I took during an autumn stroll at Cox Arboretum. The poem is part of my third small collection, Wood Smoke, published by Finishing Line Press:

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.

© 2010

Today's word: inexorable