Red Blossomed Begonias
The tree beside our porch bears
all we hang on it,
wind chimes, a basket
of red blossomed begonias,
but its bare branches
with spare leaves and its algae-
covered trunk speak of old age,
illness. It will bear these burdens
now, but not forever.
As much as we speak of saving it,
I fear the tree is an empty shell,
a facade, decay
at its core. Any Buddhist
can tell you resisiting what is,
brings certain pain. I wonder
if the squirrel’s feet detect an echoing
hollow husk.
We’re awaiting the diagnosis
of the arborist, all family members
pacing the waiting room.
The death of a tree is not to be taken lightly! Love the feet of the squirrel feeling “an echoing/hollow husk.” Then the diagnosis and the waiting room pacing – wonderful! When we moved to the country many decades, I would cry every time a tree got cut. We lived among acres of trees, so I had to grow up at some point, but the empty feeling never left.
Sylvia, thanks for your consistent acute understanding
in our yard we have several trees I thought were goners, but as time goes on. I think I’m going to be looking down on them from heaven
resisting what is, the pain of waiting–damn, letting go of life hurts
Yes, Sue, the heart of it
Wow:
I wonder
if the squirrel’s feet detect an echoing
hollow husk.
Lovely poem. Thanks!
Loved how you humanized this tree as a friend and someone to be mourned!
I love how the sick tree is juxtaposed to the title begonias
What a gorgeous, thoughtful poem, Pat.
Thanks Karen, for your kind words
Beautiful work now and throughout the month–“Any Buddhist/can tell you resisiting what is” is such a great aside to the reader and then you make the moment personal again
Shaun, thanks for your careful attention
Love all family members—pacing in the waiting room
Of course, I love all your poems
Excellent parable about the old tree as you write more about old age…
You got it
Beautiful, multi-layered poem. We hate to let go of the things/trees/people we love.
Yes, Kathleen, that’s it