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.
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,
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.