I Wish This Tree Were My Friend Jody

I look out the window at the red oak

by the curb, silhouetted in the sunlight

like a tall dancer on the sidewalk. Small fans

of spring leaves wave from each branch like a hankie.

I wish that tree were my friend Jody

carrying some treasure down the sidewalk

to show me – a silver charm, red pebble,

old photo of us, young. I’d run out the door

as she lifts her arms and wriggles

her hips and calls yatehay! to greet me.

One hot summer we drove my blue Pinto

to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico,

to listen to a washed-up country crooner

rasp his top hits through tinny speakers.

The radiator blew driving back. We sang

rolling me down the highway behind a tow truck

those 90 miles to home.

The next night we crossed over

to Juarez to shoot Davy Crocketts till dawn.

That oak is an odd standout – she keeps her leaves all year.

Autumn, she’s a mad dance of neon tangerine apricot salmon.

First winter snap, her notched leaves fade

to russet and hang there like loss until spring.

Jody gave me her heart-

leafed philodendron when she moved to NYC.

Its green vines climbed the walls

of every home I’ve had these 30 years since.

Her letters came a few times a year, handwriting

curvy, each word lifting off the page with a kick.

Divorce, drinking, recovery,

third marriage. I wanted to see her.

It’s April again. Lime green leafbuds

push the ruddy weathered leaves to the street.

I tell Jody I’ve searched for her online

as we stroll past the oak to the park.

When I found her obituary, I was left wanting

to know how she died. I ask her

to tell me, but she just says

she loves the yellow balsamroot

blooming everywhere we walk.

# # #

This poem appeared in Raw Art Review: A Journal of Storm and Urge, Winter/Spring 2021 and was awarded First Runner-Up, William Carlos Williams Prize for Poetry.

Click here to jump to the next page: Contact