i live in a tough city as a lover of trees,
observing them sprung from manhattan concrete.
just like me, a child from out west, they’re transplanted youth,
too, learning how to thrive in this grand metropolis and in the soil.
i think of touching them as i’m passing,
but to truly feel them, there’s hardly the time
hardly ever. if i could have one wish, it would be to travel through time,
first stop behind my grandparents’ house where there stood the tallest tall trees.
but my adult’s heart can only trace back to their passing.
as much as i stared into those branches, a child, as an adult, i traverse only this raised concrete
jungle. grandma and i wrote poetry inside old cereal boxes, grandad and i planted in soil,
and under them, mom and i picnicked a while. but I’ve lost my way since my youth
in forests, adulthood. my mind skips like a record to my valentines of youth,
sorting through unrefillable grade school notebooks, time
‘s frozen crushes. will i ever master how love from seeds grows (or in what kind of soil)?
the acela train once raced so quickly i could barely distinguish the trees,
and when my girlfriend called “i’ll be late”, her voice sounded concrete.
i caught my own reflection in my phone screen, entire lives passing.
back in manhattan, again, now i am passing
central park where we softballed, flipping through snapshots from my scrapbook of youth.
what i wouldn’t give to live forever full-time among trees, not concrete.
i pass my high school, they say time
heals all wounds. nothing grounds me like mingling with trees
of my youth. i can feel my nervous system regulating just approaching the soil.
and not even a critical lens on teenagers can soil
my teen reverie. i barely even considered entire grades passing.
i also played basketball with legs tall as trees
instantaneously outgrowing my jeans, drinking until bloated from fountains of youth.
i had excellent marks in how to waste precious time
and because i was nerdy, even my outlandish ideas were concrete
ly spoken. now i wouldn’t give even one of those lanky days up even the time concrete
almost broke my one leg into four. maybe i always knew love grows hidden just below soil.
i can finally trace love’s roots. growth’s pattern across time
where i dug in the yard, picnicked with mom, my own innings passing
refrains of you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone, sweet fleets of youth
asking. i lean, pausing a moment against the tougher-than-me trees.
what i’ve learned of love, i’ve learned it from trees. though you might chuckle, i swear it’s concrete,
what i’m trying to tell you. they shaded my blossoming youth, taught me if you dig deep enough, you
find roots in the soil. with each year that’s passing (they pass quicker each one) i’m most content
under these majestic evergreens, these monuments to the passage of time.