Map of the World

Stop for passing trees! Look up to admire them along Sixth and Seventh Streets in the Nation’s Icebox—trees posed against a gray, still-snowy sky, a day after the first big snowfall.

“I just love the outline of bare branches. Seems to be a map of something I don't understand but am drawn to” –Liz

“Bare branches against the sky—a mysterious map” –Kathabela

The paintings on the right are by Toti O’Brien from her Map series, posted at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/poetsonsite/TheArtOfTotiOBrienInTheLivingRoomGallery#5401231225419451618 by Kathabela.

My poems between the trees and the paintings were inspired by two kinds of maps.



Follow That Tree

I judge each branch by look and feel
like buying fruit from unknown trees
like choosing roads from maps
but after holding, feeling many
I sense the tree has grafted limbs
each unique, but from a whole

trunk and branches, twigs
their bent and pretty form
how they spread and seem to aim
pointing upward in a general way
though roundabout with interest
my tone is altered by their form
in seeing things unseen by them
partly through tree eyes I see
a tree across the street



Come, Climb on Me

I decide to stand awhile
let feet take root
wet earth between my toes
moss creeps my legs and arms
leaves sprouting from my hair
maybe a child will climb me
find his way along my paths
perhaps that boy I saw last summer
throwing pebbles
to an empty fountain
afraid to join the baseball game
too much wisdom for his age?
not made for worlds like this?
I want to say —
If not you, who?
give him comfort
like trees can



The Easy Way

A tree with crocked branches
brushes gently on the wall
smooth siding of a human home

suggesting to whoever listens
how very different
men and nature build

nature trembles in the breeze
stretches asymmetric
yearns, adjusts, and bends

human houses, measured, plumb
concepts mapped, bold and true
lines on paper, expressed in walls.

mankind strives
for straight and level
more special than we are

the tree looks on
at perpendicular
and asks how that is better.



Content, But Lacking

I was once a tree
void of leaves
naked and brittle
cold hardened
to outlast winter

you fell gently on me
like a snowflake
not needed, but warm
like a spring leaf
with a faulty map
come when leaves must die

you rested softly
repaired a breach
where I knew no lack
restored forgotten paths
created a place to dwell



Here are more trees, map-like, to follow in curious directions, but always leading upward to their tips. Buds surviving winter will lead onward in spring.