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Days of Green and Mourning
The willow in our garden
washes her green hair in sunlight and rain
and every winter molts, in shower of twigs
and leaves, stands proud and bare in the cold,
arms raised waiting for Spring’s new fashion
to slip over her shoulders
This year her left arm remains naked
a gnarled limb exposed, brown skin suddenly old
and wrinkled against the rest of her greenness.
The man at the nursery said they stopped selling willows
because of this disease – there’s nothing to do he shrugged
a year or two, three at the most
This is Northern Israel, we’re used to mourning.
Last week was Holocaust day and now Remembrance Day
for soldiers and civilians fallen in our wars is here,
the cemeteries are filled with visitors, eucalyptus trees
outside the overflowing car parks shed pungent leafy tears
We drive home, stop off at the plant nursery
buy a fuchsia and some new season impatiens
to brighten up the garden – and a few packets of seeds,
perhaps this year some vegetables will grow;
we try not to look too hard at the willow
with her crooked smile. She, we and the soldiers
Share the warmth, savor the wisdom of green days
slipped between our browning years
© Johnmichael Simon
2008
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