The Tree In some woods one of the trees — Nothing very remarkable about her — Decided to leave. No pun intended. She was a long time pulling her roots up, Like a woman on a bus gathering her bags. Wrenched them up out of the ground, Then shook the dirt off them like Jesus Told his disciples to do when leaving A house where they hadn’t been made welcome. Except she had been made welcome. If not there, amongst her kind, then where? She made her way through the crowd. Hard as she tried to keep it together, She kept dropping green leaves and seeds too Immature to sprout, like somebody Being a mess at a show, trying to Carry a triangle of pints in two hands. The others leaned this way and that To make room, grumbling grouchily. She told herself not to mind. Were she to lose heart, she’d have to Put roots down amongst strangers. Nor could she ever find the place She’d left, even if she wanted to. No choice then but to keep going Towards where the light was stronger. Days after she’d set out, she came to the edge. Had anyone been watching, they would have Seen a tree step out of the woods, Its roots scuttling over the ground Like the tentacles of an octopus. She was very tired now, very thirsty. Her leaves were wilting and yellowing. She’d lost a lot, like a woman losing Her hair. She had to put roots down soon, Or else faint and fall over for a farmer To find and buck up and burn. She climbed a hill and only when She reached the top did she look back At the woods she’d been part of before, No less whole for her not being there, Then with a sigh sunk her roots down Into the sweet virginal ground. She stands there still, on a hill south Of Scales Mound, Illinois. Many have stopped to admire her, A tree where it seems no tree should be, While a few, the saddest amongst us, Think her the saddest tree we’ve ever seen.
The Tree
The Tree
The Tree
The Tree In some woods one of the trees — Nothing very remarkable about her — Decided to leave. No pun intended. She was a long time pulling her roots up, Like a woman on a bus gathering her bags. Wrenched them up out of the ground, Then shook the dirt off them like Jesus Told his disciples to do when leaving A house where they hadn’t been made welcome. Except she had been made welcome. If not there, amongst her kind, then where? She made her way through the crowd. Hard as she tried to keep it together, She kept dropping green leaves and seeds too Immature to sprout, like somebody Being a mess at a show, trying to Carry a triangle of pints in two hands. The others leaned this way and that To make room, grumbling grouchily. She told herself not to mind. Were she to lose heart, she’d have to Put roots down amongst strangers. Nor could she ever find the place She’d left, even if she wanted to. No choice then but to keep going Towards where the light was stronger. Days after she’d set out, she came to the edge. Had anyone been watching, they would have Seen a tree step out of the woods, Its roots scuttling over the ground Like the tentacles of an octopus. She was very tired now, very thirsty. Her leaves were wilting and yellowing. She’d lost a lot, like a woman losing Her hair. She had to put roots down soon, Or else faint and fall over for a farmer To find and buck up and burn. She climbed a hill and only when She reached the top did she look back At the woods she’d been part of before, No less whole for her not being there, Then with a sigh sunk her roots down Into the sweet virginal ground. She stands there still, on a hill south Of Scales Mound, Illinois. Many have stopped to admire her, A tree where it seems no tree should be, While a few, the saddest amongst us, Think her the saddest tree we’ve ever seen.