shade

connected to family,land,roots,

and separated from seattle

the past week a strange swirling gazing globe of past, present, roots, corn, oaks

giant oak trees,

in decline stephanie says

because they cannot tolerate shade

and the maples are more adaptable

and now i am on this plane,

riding over yellowstone the captain says.


the giant oaks i miss, on the drive up the hill to hampton

past alisha’s fallen barn

the giant oaks that tower over the ravine


i walked in the backyard,

and the rhubarb was no longer in season

only a few low growing leaves left.


funny to think that raw rhubarb is poison

and the cherry tree has been cut down

the pieces now lay rotting in a wood pile behind the pine that sprouted and grew


and my flowers all covered by the raspberries

thorns and one struggling hosta

oh and one last daylily


and my mom never ages

and my dad just looks skinnier.

and i used my last kleenex

and i’m glad i’m wearing my glasses in this plane so that no one can see these ridiculous tears.