THE TREE

I planted a tree with my daughter.
My daughter took root.
The tree did not flourish.

Though the garden was heavy with trees,
I cried out for the little tree's shadow.
Deep in the shadows,
I cried out for one more.

I watered the tree,
I fed it expensive potions.

A green dwarf,
It squatted in the grass.

When the wind glazed its fat green leaves,
I cried out, ugly.

My daughter moved through the rooms
Like a breeze. I never saw her.

In the winter,
I stood like a tree over it,

My hands like two leaves,
Two small rooves to keep off the snow.

In the house,
My daughter's laugh tinkled like ice.

In the spring, when the rains came,
I bought the tree extra earth for its bed.

In the house, my daughter
Slept on her silk sheets.

The tree did not die,
But neither did it flourish.

My skin wrinkled in the sun like weather,
My skin grew brown as leaves brown when they fall.

When the tree lost its last leaf
I went in the door.

In the bedroom,
My daughter was bending over her lover,

Blossom after blossom falling from her hair
To the floor.