The Old Woman and the Tree
The Old Woman and the Tree
I
The morning sun was kind to her
As she began her daily vigil at the bus stop.
Her bones were working just fine and dandy,
The crickety-crick from the cold weather
Was in remission.
She had survived another winter.
So had her companion,
An old, leaning tree
With roots buckling the pavement.
Furry, tightly-furled buds
Testify her tree has pulled through
As well.
They have closed Blessed Sacrament
On this corner.
Divided it up for condos.
So much for her funeral plans.
Someone has taken the statue
Of the virgin out of the front yard
Of the boarded-up rectory.
So now she says her prayers outside
With the tree
Her only witness.
Before the prayers are said,
Before her Daily Bread,
Her first, first touch, first contact
First good morning
Each day is for Tree.
It is that time of year
When once or twice
She had worn her apron high…
No shame in this…
She had been as captive in her day
As her weary tree is in this Spring.
Tree consoles her,
Leaning over her.
She basks in the tree’s on-goingness.
The bus will come when it comes,
I will get there when I get there.
The knot in the trunk raises its lid
And the eye of the tree opens her.
She senses
Not hyacinths, nor lilacs,
But a ruby-throated hummingbird remembered
Struck still in grace.
II
The bus driver,
A hearty soul with hair dyed
An unlikely red
Stopped as always
For her daily passenger,
The harbinger of her routine.
Only there she is
Sitting on the sidewalk
Propped up by the crusty old tree trunk,
Her familiar robin’s egg blue pillbox hat
Held in place by unapologetic bobby pins
Her back against the tree.
While the hearty driver waited for the police to arrive…
Ignoring the disgruntled buzz of her riders,
She took the old lady’s purse from her hand.
Within was bus fare,
The exact amount,
And the square of a self-embroidered
Handkerchief,
Violet and green leaves
Still immaculate, folded and tartly white.
Her hands were empty now
For all the world to see.
By the time the police arrived
The tree’s eye had turned back
Into a knot in the bark
And nothing was blooming.
They found only
Rusty-looking stains,
Tree stains,
On a pair of white cotton gloves.
Leave a Reply