Eulogy for Trees

There are gravestones, each different

From the other; the surf board wood,

The furniture wood, the cinnamon bark

The vanilla extract, the king coconut fruits,

And many more. Even the old school botanists

Are to blame for separating with little meaning,

Like the colonials did in southern Africa.

Every tree carries paired opposing lungs,

Crowded roots and many other colorful

Organs. Still a tree is a tree. The tall ones

Are like the elephants and the whales,

They are amputated by us. A foundation for a nest,

A hollow for a parliament, a night rest for

A murder, and a circus for a troupe,

And cereals for us humans. While In a tissue

Culture lab, a little callus of undifferentiated cells

Become shoot and root, as our eyes become

Ultrasounds. The early signs that one will

Search for gravity and the other sunshine. The dress

Rehearsal to a life that basks in the august sun,

Building lattices of veined solar panels,

And in their sessile Shakira dancing

We make sense of the crafty wind, and when

The dance is all over, we linger in nostalgic thought

At the memories that were gifted to us;

The times holding a tall hook to pluck mangoes,

To bite into a ripened yellow fruit,

A game of mango seed hopscotch as a child,

And the salads made of tangy mango bathed

In table salt and red chili powder that

Smarts the mouth. They stood tall, elegant

Strong, arms like a clumsy Nataraja,

Dressed in a green cotton summer sundress,

Dangled witchy fingers, uncut overgrown nails,

The beauty that turns sinister at nightfall,

The shadows like a Hitchcock classic,

The night a perfect Stephen King plot,

& sadly when the time is nigh,

After bearing the fecund harvests,

They are betrayed by the Judas-like mankind.

The edges of a jagged electric saw,

Sending saw dust flying all over the place,

Biting into concentric molds of skin,

Like a piranha’s kiss.

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