She matches her photograph,
so most people don’t notice
she’s become a cottonwood tree.
Every morning before she leaves for school,
she tucks her roots into her shoes
and gathers her branches beneath her skin.
I have sat beneath her shade
and gathered her cotton in my hands,
marveled at how quickly she grows,
admired how she stabilizes the world,
makes shelter for others
from the gale.
How many other people
that we see on the street
are actually trees?
A conifer with an evergreen grin.
A maple with hidden sweetness.
A child who is a sequoia.
In a world such as this,
hungry and shifting,
it is necessary to listen to the trees.
Because it’s hard to tell who they are,
we must listen
to everyone.