This Oak
Never rooted in Tibet,
has not watched a whale breach
a November Pacific dusk, or guzzled
bitter beer near Vesuvius. Nor has it
absorbed the warmth of a loved one’s
hip on a frozen morning long after
the embers’ glow has greyed
and the windows blossomed
white. It cannot know the beauty
of disparate instruments playing
in joyous harmony. It will whisper
no incantations, does not smile,
won’t ever feel the anticipation
of a first kiss after a complicated
courtship. The bouquets of Bordeaux
elude it, as do tears or the benefits
of laughter. Why, then, do I envy it so?
“This Oak” was published in Slippery Elm (print only) published by Findlay University in Findlay, Ohio, in spring 2019.
O at the Edges 
Nice. I feel this way about the tall pine in my front yard.
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Thanks very much, Alison. I miss that oak!
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Love this, Robert. Trees do that effect on us.
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They do, indeed!
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What a marvelous turn at the end, Bob.
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Thanks, Cate. Trees are awesome, in every sense of the word!
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Two oak poems in my reader today! You and Stephanie synching posts? I’m feeling the urge to write a poem voiced by my live-oak now reduced to stumps – how to speak for a tree? – I read your take on what a tree does/cannot do and wonder about my oak’s perspective after-the-demise. Relieved? Antagonistic? Frustrated? Determined? A green shoot has emerged letting me know the tree is not “gone” in the way a human would be following such radical truncation.
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Ha! No, that was serendipity in action. I look forward to reading that poem, Jazz. Have you read The Hidden Life of Trees? It’s an amazing book.
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I have that book – have not read it through – should move that up a bit higher on the get-to-it list.
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It’s fascinating! I learned how little I truly see of the world.
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Timeless peace (why?)
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Or perhaps an appreciation, a longing, for the slow and steady… Or both. And more. 🙂
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