Trees interrupt
gestures, misplace
memory’s folded
origami.
A pause in the midst
of forgetting; a
continuum.
Like the water hose
curling from spigot –
stretching its brass ‘O’
to base of dogwood –
left mid-chore the
thirstless mouth
continues to irrigate
ravenous pink
blooms.
Chthonic surplus of roots
flex into upheaval
of white oak –
thick gnarly limbs
tower heroically
over meager pedestrians.
Strain to recall
each as they fade.
Intimate red maple
withdraws gossip into secluded
company, reminds people
the secrets want
out.
Copper burst
of sibilant voices
over sidewalk, lawn,
and driveway – a green
stellar force
interrupts civic history,
rooting its own memory
in ours.
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Joshua Bridgwater Hamilton holds an MFA from Texas State University and a PhD from Indiana University. His books are Excavator (Gnashing Teeth Publishing) and the chapbooks Rain Minnows (Gnashing Teeth Publishing) and Slow Wind (Finishing Line Press).
