You climb the steps every day

what pray tell is different today?

As soon as I stepped

on the concrete

the cement was fresh

the sound of my feet

silent

the sky, undeniably gray

new sod in the yard

tree was bare.

I should revel in the stark new ground

yet for all that I see

when I look around

is how you painted my deep red walls light

I should be a bird ready for flight

how the change glues me

to the pond

of my heart

of my clenched nervous hands

shaking to rise in new lands

as most bring up the past

how the trees had cancer

(it was a good thing, you say,

they surely couldn’t last)

but I like to wipe the brow of the dead

kiss foreheads, revive

recount my love stories

in various messed up beds

who can see the future

bury the ancient Queens and Kings

under the rubble

make wax heads like

Madame Tussaud

artistry out of death.

I step on the grass

dare me to talk

I will not be so crass

pretend you don’t see me

as I smile and agree

how lovely

a dead tree

can be

in the middle of my life.

The kids used to climb

my cardinal bird used to visit

so I drive to Starbucks

to save myself again

and what should come on the radio

but our song

and you could never guess

how I need my lovely mess

as I put on my new pretty dress

and forget how everything old

must be replaced

with something new

but as usual

I digress

my mind never paying attention

to the street signs.

2 thoughts on “The Tree

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