Daily April poem: unprompted

RED MAPLE

When we planted this red maple

it was barely a foot high,

shorter than a frill of kale.

We'd been married five years.

We dug a little hole and hoped.

This week the snow is finally gone

and we walk the perimeter, unearthing

sandbox toys, faded cars,

plastic tee and bat.

I almost don't recognize the tree:

sprawling gangly, reaching

over my head toward the clouds.

Ten years make a solid foundation

for curled-tight leafbuds, balanced

across branches, ready to burst free.

 

 

This poem wasn't written to any prompt; it arose on its own. I wrote it on the 20th day of the Omer, the day of yesod (roots, generativity, foundation) within the week of tiferet (harmony, balance). I had that combination of qualities in mind as I worked on the poem. Hopefully their presence is manifest.