There Ain’t Any Tree
There ain’t any tree
Green with leaves
Or hung with blossoms
That remembers the snow as it fell
Upon my father’s face
Or the grass outside the hospital
Where my sister and brother died.
That grass, so full of itself.
That grass
Waving in the wind
Taunting the earth
Thinking it’s free.
Last fall I watched a tree struggling to be barren.
In the winter it seemed happier,
Less leafy
Fewer worries.
Have you ever been to Mendocino,
That fragile collage of human vitality?
The trees there,
They remember everything.
They are not caricatures
Of some nervous sexual decoration.
You may disagree
But I am sure they watch us,
Exhale a sort of peace,
Grace the streets of the village
In a quiet way
Without interrupting the flow of traffic.
At first, I read the line that follows “Have you ever been to Mendocino…”
as: “That fragile collage of human venality.”
And I thought, whoa, dude! A nice acerbic little sandblast in the kisser! You’re as bitter and cynical as I am!
Since I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, I was relieved to see that it had been merely a Rorschach moment.
“That grass outside the hospital” is especially resonant, considering where I am in a certain manuscript!
Yes honey, you must stay off the grass. Otherwise you’ll go directly to jail without the $200.