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This is what the tree told me:
I was standing here Monday empty-handed, and saw at my feet
A patch of brown grass all shriveled up.
I gave it water and I gave it dirt and blew on it,
Spoke to it of the sun,
But it died anyway.
I was standing here Tuesday holding a bundle of dried grass in my
hand, and smelled
A worm half-dried struggling in a divot.
I gave it water
And I gave it the dead grass to eat,
And I sang to it of deep places where the mud bubbles
Warm from hidden lava,
But it died anyway.
I was standing here Wednesday with a dried worm wrapped around my
wrist, and felt
A starving bluejay stagger to a landing on my shoulder.
I gave it water
And I gave it the dead worm to eat,
And I whistled to it of August twilights
Reeking of screaming cicada herds under a fat old sun,
But it died anyway.
I was standing here Thursday with a dead bird in my hands, and heard
The desperate purr of an emaciated alleycat behind me.
I gave it water
And I gave it the dead bird to eat,
And I hummed to it of sooty brick canyons
Where a fight or a fuck can be had for the price of a song,
Sometimes both,
But it died anyway.
I was standing here Friday with a dead cat in my arms, and tasted
The urgent lips of my beloved at my neck.
He gave me a child
And the work of bearing her. She was very small and pale.
I gave her water
And I gave her the dead cat to eat,
And pinching her nose, I blew my breath into her
Wrapped in my very last electric blanket
Shreiking at her to come back,
come back,
But she died.
My foliage grows thick, see it gleam in the dusk?
It's almost now enough to hold the rain.
My vengeance
Upon the grass that killed my baby.
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