The trees behind my house are old…very old…
…when the new neighbor moved in,
he had many sawed down–
claimed they were a danger
to his home.
The neighbor stood and listened—
I did as well–
each thump on the ground
beat the earth like a drum
with no rhythm.
Do trees hold a grudge?
Underneath where their roots are strong,
do they sing ballads about the human
who was afraid and sliced so many?
Do they plot revenge?
I thought of my own revenge– of bird baths
and bird seed and ducks flying over his
yard to get to mine…
unloading.
I imagine the trees who are left
shake their fully-leaved limbs
like cheerleaders
with pom poms at a football game.
Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others. She was married to Attilio Esposito and lives with eight rescued muses in Southern New Jersey.