My Tree

My tree

When first I sat before this tree
It’s trunk was no wider than my arm;
That was when I was three.

Today I drove by to visit it
And it had sprawled so large
It’s trunk now makes two of me.

The house whose steps I knew intimately
No longer stands
A parking lot for the school
The nun who once taught me
Has been outlived by this tree.

Driving down the street where
little bare feet once had raced,
And a loving maternal call hovered o’er,
“Marcos, time to come eat”.

The voices on this street, now long gone
Vietnam’s Hell stole a couple;
Two, ascended to motorcycle heaven
One to a knife held by a friend

Some souls may also still come
Visit this old tree
From where and how far
Who knows, not me.

One day after my birthday, two years ago
The soft maternal voice had quieted
The call once hovering o’er this street,
“Marcos, time to come eat”.

I think on my birthday
Not too many days from now
April twenty fifth
I shall once again come
And visit this old tree.