The Trees are gone now, though trees remain;
one especially is missed. It drew us all –
taller than thought, ivy-wrapped, bird-wreathed.
The girls ran to it during the earthquake,
right after we moved in.
One storm-crazed night it fell, and shocked us all.
Missing the house, it blitzkrieged two back yards,
leaving a jagged cavern where there was leafy cover
yesterday. Kate walked around white-faced, shaking,
for days – “What if it had hit us?”
It knew it was loved, I told her. It loved us back,
even when it let go.
It was cut up eventually, dragged away, and grass struggles
gamely to fill the flat, smoothed-over expanse of what is left.
But the windows of my room hold
the shadows of green leaves.