Psalm 92:14-15
In the middle of our deck
a sweet gum tree rises from the level of the basement;
her leaves brush the roof of the third floor.
Constellations of green offer rest from summer's heat
and promise the warmth of orange and yellow and red
come October.
Stars fall to be swept and gathered, swept and gathered.
She releases bushels of spiked fruit
that can turn an ankle,
draw blood from a bare foot,
and, in careful, thoughtful hands,
cure the flu.
And we curse her,
but mourn the prospect of losing her.
She is perhaps most spectacular
when the days grow short
and her limbs lay bare and more pronounced
against the quickening sky.
You can see through her branches to the neighbor's house now
and to the waning moon.
She stands tired against the blusters that beat
against her wizened, weathered trunk
but her roots grow deeper still,
her sap runs rich.