Hoosteeno

I:

There were three trees
all 120 years old
all cottonwoods.

I never noticed them
all in a row
all along the seasonal creek.

But you can imagine them
all ten feet around
all mossy.

There were three
all 120 years old
all cottonwoods.

Yesterday, two were taken down
lopped and chopped
to stubs.

II:

Trees are not like people:
they do not think about other trees
they can’t understand a damn thing.
They can’t live on the love of one person alone, as I can.

Trees live on the love of many:
on the love of the burbling creek
on the love of the birds and the squirrels and the raccoons creeping low
on the love of young people, frolicking carelessly.

Everybody was young under those trees
especially the men with their saws
especially me.

III:

There were three
they were all cottonwoods
they were all planted in the same springtime
they all wintered together, cottoned together, yellowed together
120 times.

Only one remains.