Elms on Death Row
Denise Hill
Three trees stand solemnly
in a row just as planted
nearly one hundred years ago
Each tendril root
tapped deeply into place
somnolently holding to earth
Craggy rough bark
like aged hands so many
life stories harbored there
Each now marked: a bright red dot
some roughshod city worker
sprayed just doing his job
Their days are numbered
soon hewn to stumps
then those ground flush
I place my hand on one
breathe in breath out
say “Thank you”
then the next: Thank you.
then the next: Thank you.
Lest they go from this world
unappreciated for all
they have provided.
Thank you.