You took for granted the lush-leafed
kingdom outside your window,
the maple you relied on for shade
and song, time’s thick anchor.
Never thanked the hands or careless
breeze that sank a seed years ago,
though each fall your back cursed
the endless raking. One summer
day, bursts of rain and wind sent
limbs and trunk crashing across
the roof, splitting beams, snaking
the cold odor of gas through each
room, but sparing your family.
After fear spoke loudest,
you learned
how to mourn a tree.
How Everything And Nothing Changes
Gail Thomas has published six books of poetry, most recently Trail of Roots and Leaving Paradise. Her poems are widely published in journals and anthologies and have won awards and Pushcart Prize nominations. She teaches poetry for Pioneer Valley Writers’ Workshops, helps refugees resettle and visits schools and libraries with her therapy dog, Sunny.