Wednesday, February 13, 2008

The Day the Tree Fell Down. A Poem by Jack LaZebnik

The Day the Tree Fell Down

crumbling. It died of old age,
I tell you, like a man. We wept.
We had worn our time upon it, put
our arms around to touch fingertips
and we measured ourselves, our feelings
on the years. We made our calculations
pay, then. Now, the fears, age,
daily mathematics. The tree held
the green. Birds, squirrels, coons
made memory there until the day it fell.
They got out. It groaned for twenty minutes.
I tell you, it sighed as it bent,
its branches catching the dull fall,
the soft turning in wet dissolution.
The body lay exposed: a gut of grubs,
a lust of hollowness. We wept,
as I say, more than it was called for.

by Jack LaZebnik


Mage And George said...

Delightful to discover you. Such a real words in that poem and quotes too. Then too, I recently remember smoking and still move gently into the path of second hand some.

Thank you for the note yesterday. Yes, he was alone. We just show up at dinner every day. This is a dear old friend who now finds himself with excuses for visitors. Everyday is worse, and we know this.

Alice said...

I don't know much about poetry, but I know what I like. I like this one very much!

Anonymous said...

This is the story of an old oak that we lost a few years back. It is still laying where it fell. It was a matter of respect.