A WOMAN AND A TREE

Many, many years and many, many trees
have gone by for this woman past sixty-three
with hair now growing silver amongst the red
and grown children with young mouths of their own to be fed

many fun memories in her mind dance and swirl
Chilly nights to tree farms with three boys and a girl
Home Depot and grocery store parking lots
Some remembered, some cherished, and yes some forgot

Now a magnolia made of Portuguese steel
alone, it’s a tradition she refuses to repeal
In recent years, the youngest son would help out
An aid around the house loyal and devout

Now even he has a family of his own
and though he still calls offering help on the phone
sometimes schedules don’t match, as we all know
so with a smile she takes care of business solo

And preferring to stay independent anyway
despite her growing years of age
She drives off now to the local garden supply
cause to not help local business, she can’t think of why

Alone she walks the dark aisles of trees
And takes time and care till the right one she sees
with colorful scarf thrown over strong shoulders
she pays and gives the worker a few extra dollars

Still untamable, she loads it into her own pickup truck
which of course she needs to properly still run amuck
arriving home, she can’t find the tree stand that she needs
The tree in a bucket on the porch she must leave

Wishing so much she could complete this fun task
“Darn, double darn, where is that tree stand,” she asks
“The basement? The shed? Amongst all the clutter?”
“The bed’s calling, I’ll find it in the morning,” she mutters

In the morning she’ll rise woken up by the dog
and a hot pot of coffee to lighten the grog
she’ll find the stand out back in the shed
“Right where I put it,” the boyfriend’s text said

Then raising it up, it crookedness she now sees
again adjust, step back, hmm, it just won’t agree
never being one to give up without a fight
This two-person job she achieves with sheer might

Then covering with lights from crown down to floor
she waits till it looks full, then adds a few more
passed on to grown children are most ornaments
so she hangs her old favorites with canes peppermint

like a merry, festive, holiday Sisyphus
again and again she does it, even without us
for her it’s more than a simple tradition
it’s a spiritual ritual which to not do would be sin

This routine, it represents values and beliefs
so she’ll always shoulder that old Christmas tree
like her savior did when he bore the cross
carry it she will, even if it’s a struggle to walk

with all of her sinew and all of her might
with all of her colorful, bright, bright old lights
she’ll raise it high like an Iwo Jima Marine
for at least herself, and the dog, to see

A few times she’s mentioned, she’s not scared to die
cause faith she’s long had of her Lord’s home in the sky
but some Earthly things she wishes to still hear, smell, and see
like saltwater oceans, autumn colors, and Christmas trees

so one day rising into some unknown dark
her faith she’ll carry still deep in her heart
and St. Peter looking out, will realize what he sees
an oncoming, marching, smiling woman, with a tree