In the shaggy winter garden,
Past browned herbs, sleeping bulbs,
Flocking birds,
I trudged back to the shed
And found something out of place.
A hard steel cable
Ran tangled through the shrubs
Beneath the power and phone lines
And a small redbud,
Ripped entire from where it grew,
Trunk, leaves, root,
Lay dead across the ground.
I gently pulled it loose,
Cradled in my arms,
And offered to the compost pile.
Who to blame? Who to call,
To shower with angry words?
Some worker, high aloft,
No doubt had dropped a coil,
Then tried to yank it back and failed,
But not before fatality.
In my yard
What sad parody he’d made
Of the helpless and their sky gods.
