A Thousand Cuts

Twenty years ago, when we first got here,
There were five great pines in line along
Our northern border. Four were taken. All
Have died. Of three pines on our southwest
Corner, two are gone, the last, diseased.
Two crab apples are no longer. One of three
Enormous maples in the front grew weak
And was removed a dozen years ago. Another
Was felled yesterday. The last one will be taken
Soon, which leaves us with but one great oak,
A smallish sugar maple and another maple, from
Japan, which will not grow too high. There's
Little else left in the front, some scraggly volunteers
Which came up where the line of pines had been.
The shade, the sense of isolation, which those trees
Provided has been lost, and can't be grown again
Within the years which I have left. I might not
Have been so disturbed if there still was a tree farm
Just across the street, but now it's gone, replaced by
Bland suburban homes and trampolines and yapping
Dogs. I grew up near the forest, and I mourn the loss
Of any tree. To have so many disappear around me
Leaves me crushed.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 44 times
Written on 2021-07-14 at 18:58

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