Willow

there is a willow I planted
in the backyard of the house I built
that someone else now lives in

each day on my way to work
I pass by and wonder if that willow
weeps as its branches reach
toward the ground I once walked

I wonder if that willow remembers
the day I picked her from the many
that were waiting to be planted
holding her to my chest
as we left the nursery
with her branches bound
her trunk wrapped in burlap

I placed her into the earth she thirsted
warming her roots with the warm Kansas clay
and cut away the twine
and watched her branches explode into the twilight sky
and shared a long drink together
after the late summer sun had set that day

before i walked away

I would watch through the window, still, some days
as she stood firm and willed her way
through winter ice
and then thawed and stretched towards the clouds
while wrapping herself in a green spring shawl
and then danced with the children
while swinging from her branches in the summer sun
growing stronger each season

so today she is a year older and a year wiser
and someone else lives in the house I built
as I moved on long ago to chase lakeside dreams
knowing that that willow would live long beyond me
but forever hold and shade that place
in the backyard of the first home I built

| Edmund Vazquez | The Willow | © February 2005 |