The Braeburn Tree ** Options

[Eisa]

The Braeburn Tree


Mother-like it stoops, watching Sheba’s endless
sleep, drapes its blush pashmina over her in spring.

Its body inclines across the slender path to bask
in solar warmth; arms grasp us as we grapple to pass.

After harvest, we shovel it out, abandoning windfalls
to compost the ground, around a gaping cavity.

Repositioned by the wishing well, we pamper it, hope
sap will course through veins again and the chasm left

will not be needed very soon. In February’s gloom, we wait
for the man trapped in traffic, carrying a mercy-potion.

It takes seconds. Max is swallowed by the void as soil
shrouds him. We replant nearby bulbs, in memoriam.

I first perceived Max in a dream-chase, the tabby scurries
from Sheba’s umbrageous grave. Now he rests beside her.

Today, seedtime rays and drizzle foster apple blossoms
to unfurl; narcissi gently waver where heads once bowed.


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St2 was
in solar warmth; arms grasp us as we grapple passed.