The Wake

Someday when you are older, I will bring you to the forest
that I planted. I dug a whole for each tree and bade The Rains
to come. I made clear this is The Wood of My Son.

You are that son.

Each year, I return to that parcel of land. Now the trees
have branches that connect completely to each other branch.
If one tree decided to fall, they would all fall together.

It is a no-wind zone. I willed it and made it so,
so that no other child’s breath would touch your trees.

Only you.

*

In the years before the motor car, we walked among
the paved roads and wondered what they were made for.

We did a dance we called The Side-Walk and we wore
hats that you would deem ridiculous. But you are just a boy.

One road led to the spot where I planted your forest.

*

Things changed when you were born. Out went our collection
of precious silences. They were replaced with your rocking crib
and your robotic-dog. I guess I’m not bitter, even though.

You are too young to know these things.

But soon, when your legs can touch the pedals
of our hybrid, I will take you to the forest with no wind.
I will parade you to the gods, and they will clap.

And if your electric dog yips, that is fine
because this is the forest that was conceived for you.