on the tree
her teachers planted in her name
and moved
from the school by her brother
when the board
closed it down.
The leaves on the fragile new stems
have turned red
one falls as I sit here i hear it
touch the wet grasses
now another now it's another's turn
to lose its purchase on the world
look the sun is a neon arc
and that too falls
behind the ridge now it is gone
you go back up
four lines it is still there I can't
go back it's gone
yet still the slightest trait recalled
leaves me almost unable to speak
the thin branches with their slender red leaves
between us and the sunset each of us
a never-again rush of blood and words
crickets steady and slow in the cool woods
each of us all of this
turning turning
our turn
is all we'll ever have.
–with a trick and eight lines from Jorie Graham.
