The tree

This is really old, but it's probably one of my favorites of all that I've written.

Tall, elegant, all-embracing,

you extend your arms to the sky,

a shady refuge for the neighborhood children

since the days when life’s greatest challenge

was reaching the branch at my current eye level.

A mark of time; erupting with floral beauty

as the spring rains fall.

And in the autumn, the pine needles of your peers

form a perfect jumping pile at your knees.

My imagination molds your shape

transfiguring the familiar timber

into my airplane, submarine, secret hide-out

not to mention the cryptic knife marks

that might as well be an alien’s symbols.

 

Time moves forward;

we grow from our roots.

The springtime blossoms wilt much faster-

or have I simply seen more springs?

Yet the bark fades

and before I know it,

I watch through a dirty window

as you take your final bow.

For a moment my heart stops.

Then time resumes again,

relentless as ever.

 

Now I have aged some,

more and more certainties disappear.

And sometimes, I think, it’s just not the same.

You’ve become a spectacle

masked by a thin layer of spray paint.

Yet somehow, when the sun is angled just right,

It’s comical. A celebration of your life.

It’s the memory that counts, after all.

And of course I will always remember;

the twenty-four who remain

remind me.

Reviews

[Sasha]

Wow. I can see why you consider this a personal favorite and if I were to tell you every reason I liked it, this review would go on forever. First of all, you already get credit for your choice in a topic. Anything that isn't love or vampires gets bonus points from me. Then the poem itself was just so elegant. It's beautiful without begging to be seen as such. Your language is very simple, yet you made me miss days with a tree I've never seen and my own childhood at the same time. I smiled when you said reaching the branch was your biggest challenge and I was sad when the tree died. The bit about the tree transforming because of your imagination made me think of my own poem about imagination and how you were one of those children I envy. I support and appreciate the sentiment of "It's the memory that counts.." and the positive spin you put on the tree passing.

I really could go on, but I'll sum it up by saying I loved this poem. I really did.

[Tia Sanchez]

I love this one, too. I like poems that tell me a story.