What Remains

 

Neighbors insisted I take down the old

maple when its branches began to break

and fall, endangering the walkers-by.

 

Clearly it was rotten to the core where

its ringed history erased itself as it

sighed welcomes to its new wood-eating in-

 

habitants, sang goodbyes to nesting birds,

brushed wind’s dust on its wrinkled cheeks and

dug in its toes for one last dance of joy.

 

I think it heard the truck’s rumbling from far

away the day it came to save the street

from natural death’s time table and clues.

 

Five years later, a stump holds the ancient

one’s backyard place and one hard burl sits

on a pedestal in my living room.

 

Shaped into a bowl by my brother, it

is cracked as its Mother, tiny as its Dad

is tall and vast and filling everything.

 

And I?  I will leave a volume or two,

books printed on another tree’s remains,

some containing what I learned from this friend.

 

It is not all sad, this learning.  Hollow

social practice can also be removed

when it harms  neighbors, nations and spirit.

 

Would I miss them as much as I do this

tree?  I hope not.  Bigotry, as rotten

to the core has left too many wounded.

 

You taught through your sacrifice, my woody

friend.  I plan to apply your truth in time

for your children to gain from your brief life.

 

Copyright © 2015  S.L.Chast

Revised 12/2020

for my book 

Grieving Into  Love