We didn’t hear it—
one third of a tree, toppling
full-branched into the field.
Around noon, I snipped
a lot of little branches off,
making way for bigger cuts,
drenched in sweat. Men came
from the HOA; but
the trunk was on my land, so
they took their chainsaws
down into the woods, someplace.
That evening I set down my wine
and used a hand saw for a time
until the sweat came back;
we could pay someone, but my plan
is to buy my own chainsaw.
How else could I properly mourn
the little green-ceiling room I liked
out there in the yard, a place of
peace now very gone,
now getting snipped up,
or the tire swing I was proud of
hanging—as I consider
chopping down the rest
since, you know,
it’s quite close to the house.
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