Day 3 Poem for the 5 Poems - 5 Days Poem-thon
I wrote this poem about 30 years ago. We were living in Charleston, Illinois, and I was teaching at Eastern Illinois University. We had bought a house that was part of a development built in an old corn field. It was flat and the earth there was pretty much used up through generations of farming. Nonetheless, Linda and I tried to grow trees and roses and flowers and tomatoes and such. Pretty much unsuccessfully. Here'a a poem from that time.
A Birch Tree Dying in Illinois
If this were New Hampshire
and I were Robert Frost
this death would go unnoticed
I'd measure a wall
and worry about the mail
my wife would kneel
at her planting
placing the seed
we will harvest later
as peas or zucchini
my daughter would circle
a pine, draw up before it
and measure herself and it
But this is Illinois
and on the lawn the birch
tree is dying, its grey
bark reddens, deepens
toward death, the dry buds
powder between my fingers
and a living birch
is as scarce as glory.
Yes, that pretty much sums it up, doesn't it? Birch and blue spruce and silk trees, have died here over the years. Worn out soil. I let the birds do my gardening now. This method has improved the dirt I must say. Thanks for the poem, John.
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