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At thirty feet,
testament to the first owner’s
exotic tastes,
it died this year,
trunk cracked and bug infested.
A few limbs leafed out
in late spring, withered yellow
then bare by mid July.
In its prime it offered shade well placed,
I’d watch
the boys play in its cool
embrace as I cooked meals.
Yet,
it’s not the respite from the sun,
the pink fuzz of summer
alive with butterflies
or
the seed pods shaken
like maracas in October
that I’ll miss,
but the way the leaves closed up
each night at sunset before it slept.
From The Grace of Light, Finishing Line Press, 2004.
Used here with the author’s permission.
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Kathe L. Palka lives in Hunterdon County, New Jersey and writes in both Japanese forms and free verse. Her short tanka collection, As the Years Pass, won an eChapbook Award from Snapshot Press in 2011. In 2015, Red Moon Press published A Path of Desire, a book of tan renga written by Kathe and poet Peter Newton. Two poems from her long form collection, Miracle of the Wine (Grayson Books, 2012), were featured on The Writer’s Almanac. Kathe is a member of the Haiku Poets of the Garden State and has been involved in the presentation of haiku for their yearly April haiku sign installation at the New Jersey Botanical Garden in Ringwood, New Jersey since its inception in 2018. She has co-edited the online micro poetry journal tinywords.com together with Peter Newton since 2012. Kathe is currently at work on a manuscript in Japanese forms. Learn more about her at her Haiku Foundation web page.
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wendy morton:
Such a careful eye, such a spare and fine poem.
Posted 10/16/2011 11:37 AM
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Ginny C.:
The final image is especially fetching. Nice one, Kathe!
Posted 10/16/2011 08:55 AM
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dotief@comcast.net:
What a wonderful tribute to one of my favorite trees. And I too love the fact that they close up their leaves each night. Lovely!
Posted 10/16/2011 08:43 AM
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Katrina:
I can hear the original maracas. Thank you! You have really added to the onomatopoeia on many levels.
Posted 10/16/2011 05:16 AM
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