bloom

well, the miracle has happened once again
in one day
in one night
the light has changed
all that was dark
and bare
is full and bright

I have two trees
they are mine by care
not title
I am loaned for a sum
the right to tend them
cut them, bind them,
fear for them,
pleasure in them

in autumn, they are nothing special --
briefly orange then black

in winter they stand sentry to the lawn
bear silent testament to the sleep of all green
themselves in naked slumber
offering scant but welcome
rest to strays
of many species
for a frosty moment here and there

in summer, gravely verdant,
peaceful in the buzz of insects,
silent and steadfast in shrieking heat
and smothering damp,
they host life
highways for bright eyes and fuzzy tails
a network of safe nooks for quiet doves and noisy sparrows
to nest and raise their young

now is their moment of special glory,
the transcendent burst of color,
harlotry for bees,
the fresh extravagance of reawakening,
singular gift of rare lives
granted annual youth

I have seen this seven times
I do not know how many more
will be my duty, my privilege,
my purchase,
my reward

for now,
until I own my own
or move on to other worlds, other trusts
that I shall borrow
each for a fee,
these things are mine

to cry over and fear for
as ice storms first dress them in jewels
and then break their limbs with all that glistening frozen weight,
as the landlord hacks them back
with a true owner's sanguine, loveless,
and responsible confidence,
as they age and die like all living things
this year giving fewer blossoms, this year fewer fruits,
as children not my own
clamber through them with careless sneakers,

just for now,
until I move on
and insofar as I can stretch my arms to tend them
and my strength to pay for the privilege,
they
and this miracle,
each miracle, each season,
are mine to love
to watch
and to ensure

by Sara, copyright 2002, all rights reserved