“Leave”

I should have known
..that night watching
…our gracious hollow tree in the field
….burst into flames.

And firemen running about —
..frenzied ants — revealing
her charred remains.

Something should have clicked
..when the pine,
…(patiently leaning,
….a hundred years)
twisted to the ground.

And even last week,
..in case I didn’t get the message,
that Manitoba maple
..with all the keys to the world,
…where the early days hammock .. hung
…forever,
snapped in half.

Leave,
as the yellow house
dismantles — brick by
brick,

fence lines rip up
as an old roll of fabric,

ponds, bursting with every frog we know
become backfilled graves,

and cabooses and box cars
morph into black tankers and
white towers — eagles to
vultures and
wild grass to
tiled Land

Now, put out the flames
with waves of tears, and
leave.

— Esther Wrightman (April 2014)