Lone Elm (#36)

I asked an old friend to

Help me identify a tree

I had never seen before,

And I think we were both

Surprised when she said

—Hesitatingly at first, then

With cautious wonder—

“I… I want to say it’s an elm,”

Both of us knowing it

Defied logic, odds,

Aware of how the disease

Had arrived long ago, killing

Ninety nine thousand

Nine hundred and ninety nine

Elms for every one remaining,

As here, rooted, solitary. Alive.

Who knows how?

How we stay friends,

I mean, knowing what

We think we know,

That life goes on,

So busy, so bothered, so

When the phone rings,

And the voice, carefully

Composed, bridging

Distance, decades,

Cracks—In a single syllable,

Our world falls, fathomless,

While the lucky elm, miraculous,

Feels the sun on its leaves,

The rain on its roots, and,

Missing no one, misses nothing.