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Monday, February 21, 2005

Willow

edvazquez

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 |

5 comments:

Echele said...

Absolutely beautiful! I love willow trees!

Dr. H said...

I love the idea of trees marking a time and place in our lives. Some trees out live humans. The history they have experienced, the stories they could tell...

Also, it's eerie to me to pass by houses I once lived and to be aware that other people now live within those walls. Did I leave part of my spirit of youth behind in there? Do they sense my adolescent traumas when they walk in my old room? Do they see the doorjam of the master bathroom -- where my sister scraped MY NAME into it and blamed me just to get me into trouble?

You BUILD houses?

lennie71 said...

Tell us some more about those lakeside dreams...

K.E.B. said...

Rare... an amateur poet with rythm. I liked hearing your poem outloud as I read it. Is there some meaning I am missing, or is it an "emotion piece"?

havsumhope said...

eMotion Peace, indeed.

i've always thought that the mark of a good piece of poetry is that it has a meaningful truth at many levels. I can't honestly say it has a single meaning... because what's important to me is the meaning it had for you, as a reader.

i love reading the responses to those little things that my Muse gives me to give here for that very reason.

one of the most interesting things to me is that each of us can experience one thing in different ways and, consequently, feel so many different things, together.

sometimes I read what I write and think: "Stupid Llama".

Did I say that out loud?