Mountain Ash

By Gregg Norman

it stood alone lakeside
with only tules close by
but back a bit
tall Burr Oaks
looked over it
with favor
there in no-man’s-land
where none but spirits
and gods held sway

we thought then
as people do
that it might do
to fill a spot
by the cottage
that needed a tree
sensibly if not
desperately

so we dug it out
though its roots
defied our blades
cut off at the knees
we planted it
not knowing its name
or its chances

within a week
it sprouted new twigs and leaves
in sharp symmetry
to identify itself
as Mountain Ash
red berries followed
flowers in diverse
clusters and Waxwings
came for them

now it’s no longer
a slim sapling
a something-or-other
green enough to serve
alone in the reeds
stepchild of the oaks
it is its own tree  now
it doesn’t belong
to us anymore
if it ever did

Gregg Norman lives in Manitoba, Canada, where he reads and writes poetry to maintain his frail grip on reality. His work has appeared in Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Medusa’s Kitchen, and has been accepted for publication by Dark Winter Literary Magazine, Raconteur Magazine,  Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, Borderless Journal, and Horror Sleaze Trash.