thanking the tall maple
over on Sea Street,
it was or it wasn’t
me hearing waves crash
in the high branches
swaying, wanting
to swim up
in the wind—
it understands, the maple
silent as that man,
chain saw in hand, hacks away
pruning branches one by one,
it is or it isn’t me it hurts,
shrinking.
Copyright © 2019 by Rose Auslander.