This tree has completely lost its pride and joy,
now lying across the wet ground,
an intricate, golden mat for others to step on.
Things that you do that are undignified
but unavoidable. Bills need to be paid.
There is no hearth to return to, no heirlooms to sell.
You had hoped for something better than this,
but, in truth, not in childhood, too depressed to think
beyond the next year.
The glistening leaves remind me
of leaf collages I made as a girl,
and of how I liked to iron and preserve
leaves between wax paper.
The barren tree like my girl’s body
dancing in the wind in the backyard
to my own songs, odes to autumn trees.
Joys you rediscover later in life
when others are taken away.