“This Tree” is dedicated to my friend M.A., who like myself, is a tree lover and a tree hugger, and also, like myself, moved from Pittsburgh to Tampa.
I am allergic to Live Oak but that does not deter me from being awestruck by them, especially this one in Lowry Park. It was almost as if this tree had made an impression on me, was trying to communicate with me, "love me".
After our first meeting on a walk with friends, I couldn't stop thinking about this tree.
It's obvious how vital trees are to humans. They change our exhalations into oxygen, improve our mental health and keep us cool especially, here in Florida. Trees are our natural allies when it comes to climate change. But, to me, they are magical and poem worthy.
I invite you to go to Lowry Park and see if you can find this tree.
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I am allergic to Live Oak but that does not deter me from being awestruck by them, especially this one in Lowry Park. It was almost as if this tree had made an impression on me, was trying to communicate with me, "love me".
After our first meeting on a walk with friends, I couldn't stop thinking about this tree.
It's obvious how vital trees are to humans. They change our exhalations into oxygen, improve our mental health and keep us cool especially, here in Florida. Trees are our natural allies when it comes to climate change. But, to me, they are magical and poem worthy.
I invite you to go to Lowry Park and see if you can find this tree.
This TreeFor National Poetry Month, Creative Loafing Tampa Bay asked Dennis Amadeus, who leads The GrowHouse Collective based in Ybor City, Florida, to help us reach unsung poets. We asked them to write about trees—any trees—and they responded.
By Victoria Dym
This tree reaches out to me, briny bark branch
wants to shake my hand, perhaps, or
like a homeless man, is begging for money, palms up
or, maybe the outreach is an invitation for a hug
wants to give me a mother-tree hug, mother me
love me, like the mother I’ve never known.
This tree, a giant, fifteen feet, at least, to the crown
looking up, makes me want to kneel, to curtsey
to bow in respect of its sheer majesty.
This tree, wise tree, long-lived tree, spreads peace
tranquility, shade, bark beetles.
This tree, in Lowry Park, historic, classic, Southern Live Oak
whispers to me from the underground, the other world
fungus and roots, the language of carbon and water
a lively conversation, this tree, laughing the way trees do
shaking leaves, and jiggling cascades of Spanish moss
in jolly kinship.
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