*I started working on this poem in 2010, and as is my habit, I doubt it's actually finished. It is one of the only poems I've ever written whose backbone (in my mind) was a song. I don't write lyrics, I'm not enough of a musician for that. But this poem always felt like a country song. No refrain really. And while the music of it isn't obvious, there was a distinctive tune in my head when I wrote it. Even if it doesn't feel complete, it's finished enough for today, the last day of this year, the day that always reminds you of the things you failed to finish. Here's to new days and new trees and finishing more poems in 2012.
I need a tree
Great-Granddaddy bought that house just shy of the Depression
In a small town in East Tennessee.
Raised their children tucked into the mountains,
Tucked into the roots of oak trees.
Initials were carved into cement,
Promising sidewalks don’t die.
New trees were planted as kids moved away,
Slow and steady grew straight for the sky.
I rode a bike at my grandparents’ place,
Tree-covered South Carolina.
Sunday sermons and Sunday suppers,
Beneath trees that knew how to find ya.
Secret neighborhood kisses sitting in leaves,
Listening for Grandmother’s holler.
The cover of treetops hides all childhood sin,
As you pray to be older, a bit taller.
My folks bought a house at the top of a hill
On a street by the name of Old Pine.
They planted a willow in the front yard
And I thought that the shade was all mine.
The oak in the backyard was thick as a boxcar,
And my dog dug a hole near her base.
Hours were spent casting spells and pretending
That that tree was a castle, a spaceship, a library on cloudier days.
The homes of my childhood were littered with trees,
With the leaves and long branches of growth.
And I was a child looking up, touching heaven,
Tucked into daydreams below.
And now I wander, questions pinned to my brow,
Wondering who else I should be.
And in my tiny, poorly-shaded apartment,
I realize, I first need a tree.
A tree with a long, old, steady, hard trunk,
And leaves worth a raking, leaves to crunch under snow
I need a tree to point me to heaven,
So I know which direction to grow.
