A Palm Tree Grows in Santa Barbara
Because I cannot stand under it
and take it all in at once,
I put my palm on its stem—
palm, because its fronds are splayed,
supine, expectant—
stem, because it is only tree-like
and I need to steady my gaze
on its dizzying climb
in the brassy sunlight.
I tell it—
you are so tall—
tall, because its focus is ascension,
not girth or limbs—
focus, because it bends
to the grousing of shaggy clouds—
bends, because in a storm
it sweeps the floor-sky
like a witch’s broom—
sweeps, because it does not count the years
in rigid rings
but spirals—fan-leaved—
twisting in a gust
and flinging clusters
of its seeded drupes,
like a parable so perfect
it takes hold in any soil—
poor, shallow, shifting sands—
because its roots are a million
fibrous phrases,
tacking down its own beginning—
adventitious,
because these days
are so uncertain.
—
I tell it—
you are so tall,
and so beautiful—
so beautiful, because she says,
“That’s a good one.”
She, like me,
has been tripping—
marveling eyes skyward,
lashes spiked and glittered—
under these strange, ubiquitous,
tree-like flowers—
marveling, because her name is Fantasia,
and this is the first time
she’s fallen so quickly in love—
fallen, because he’s with her now—
Gabriel—
we press our palms in greeting—
in love, because he tells her—
breathe—
you are no longer alone—
alone, because she’s been scattered—
Washington, Birmingham, St. Louis—
no longer, because together they are community activists —
Arlington, Palo Alto, Chesterbrook—
gathering signatures for good legislation—
gathering, because it starts somewhere—
good, because the focus is this—
she gestures,
her palms spreading
the infinite, invisible moment
we find between us.
I can’t help it. I need to repost this in the right order. Duh. Also HAD to tinker with the ending. #PoemsAbout #EdgeOfKnowing
