Blue Maple

I thought I heard someone crying
in the front yard last night
but it was only our trees
swaying in their silent susurrus.

I wonder, if we give them enough time
would they begin talking to each other
about the loss?

The one they face each fall
standing just so, stiff yet inviting
as their children fall away
leaving without so much as a smile.

The oak, tall and formidable
wills the cold to come
daring it to change his sentinel mood.
The elm, watching from her corner
always hangs on to the last one the longest.
And the fir has bent his hidden spine
trying to defy the forces of gravity.

and this year, something is wrong with the maple

maybe it’s the neighborhood’s breath
a combination of exhaust fumes and body odor
or the libations of yesterday’s laundry soap.
Or maybe it’s simply our tears
yours and mine
falling as we sit crying for our own losses.

But whatever the cause
as children crunch along orange sidewalks
and we stand in our doorways
drinking hot chocolate
my maple will only shed blue.