I want to write a poem about my Birch tree
Yet I feel my observations might besmirch me
To you, my fair reader, who had no temptation
Of reading my barking without compensation
The birch, she’s a three-trunk, a trifecta of trees
Who’s named for each son I’ve bounced on my knees
She’s a good forty feet tall, and provides perfect shade
For the vendors who park out front when they’re bade
To my home to address one thing or appliance
Which exists in the house, but not in compliance
But she’s shedding herself always, her green DNA
Without warning or notice on each blessed day
If it’s not ripe yellow leaves, then it’s buds, or it’s pollen
Abundant enough to shut your eyes swollen
Or branches or twigs, for they fall all the seasons
She shares quite a lot, she’s a tree, needs no reason!
Lo, the trimmers, they stalk
To approach and begin talk
Of topping her off, limb by limb!
” ’cause she’s too close to the house!
She might let in a big mouse
Through the gash she’ll create on your shingles!”
But her sweet narrow limbs, so wispy, so thin,
I impart a sly grin,
I’ll not pay you to help your purse jingle.
She’s been here since ’03, she replaced a sick fir tree
Infested with mites and decay
A neighbor says she’s too big, to close to my house
I think, “Did I ask? I don’t care what you say.”
She’ll outlive us all, for her roots are quite spread
Beneath grass, grown anemic and thin
‘Cause she sucks all the water and drains nitrogen
Her older bark is quite rough, but her newer like paper
That my sons have used to write me notes
Of greetings and devotion
Based on instance, or notion
For in her long lifetime
We are just a vapor.
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Update: Oops. I wrote this in June. I haven’t written anything since, and I pushed the wrong button, apparently when visiting the WordPress app this morning… no matter. Maybe publishing this has loosened my writer’s block. There are no mistakes. 🙂
Thank you.
Grass Oil by Molly Field 