There is a palm tree
in the yard
across the street
from my house.
It’s one of those
strange old trees
with lots of layers
on it’s trunk
that sways in the wind.
The trunk of that tree
is brown and tan and black and gray
and it’s texture looks rough to the touch.
The other day
while I was getting in the shower
something caught my attention.
I was glancing out the bathroom window
and even through the glass and steam and water,
I could still see it.
It was that funky tree
across the street
and it encapsulated me.
As I glanced in its direction,
I noticed something unusual.
I had that feeling
that someone
was watching me
from that strange old funky tree.
For a moment it
looked like a woman
sitting on the roof
of the house
across the street.
She was sitting cross-legged,
like a yogi.
She posed tall,
back erect,
her head lifted,
body straight.
Her long arms were wrapped
about her legs
draping over alternate knees.
She was focussing
on something.
She was focused
on me!
She was watching me
from that funky tree.
Her long graying green hair
was wildly waving in the air.
Her body was still,
perfectly still,
as she sat there
watching me,
sizing me up,
studying me
from that funky tree.
I couldn’t stop looking that way.
I wanted to know what she had to say.
I tried to forget about it.
I finished my shower,
I got dressed.
Then entranced,
I had to look again.
I had to see what was happening
to the funky tree
that I could see
through my bathroom window
that is in the yard
of the house
across the street.
That weird old thing!
No longer a woman.
No, she was gone.
Not a tree either.
That tree has somehow morphed
into a new shape,
a new being.
I thought I saw a boy at first.
But it was a boy and a girl
in an embrace.
They were hugging and kissing,
their limbs interlaced.
Right there on top of the roof
of the house across the street,
right where that palm tree used to be!
What were they doing there
living life on the edge?
They had not a care in the world.
They were not aware of me at all
as I stared I watching them
sizing them up
studying them
right there
on that funky tree.
Then suddenly
my concentration broke.
I took a breath
as my mind awoke.
I needed to stop obsessing.
I promised myself
I would not look at it again.
Not even a glance,
I would not take that chance.
I was afraid of
what I might see
next time I look
at that funky tree.
Time passed
and seasons changed.
A new day dawned
as time elapsed.
I just happened
to look out the window
of my bathroom
at the house
across the street.
I could not help myself
at the tree, I glanced.
It was something new,
the colors were a pretty hue.
They were lighter shades
of brown
and gray and blue.
Then I saw him.
He was a wee lad.
He couldn’t be more than four or five.
There was a little boy peeking out
from behind it.
He was behind that funky tree
on the roof
of the house
across the street
playing peek-a-boo with me.
My thoughts raced,
“Hold on! Don’t fall,”
as I watched him
grasping so gingerly
to the bright green leaves
of the funky tree.
He was laughing and giggling joyfully,
just looking around
seeing what he could see.
He climbed and dangled
from high atop
the old gray palm.
Playing a game of “I Spy,”
inconspicuously,
he took notice of me
looking at him,
through the window
of my bathroom,
watching him
sizing him up
studying him.
He laughed and grinned
as he ducked behind his fortress
and once again was hidden
behind that strange old tree.
He disappeared
from my view
it’s true.
He was so wise
under the guise
of that funky tree.
I said aloud,
“Go on little guy,
don’t worry why,
Go on and play,
I’ll see you again someday.”
A new day arrived
and I contrived
I would no longer be caught
in a web of thought.
That funky old tree
hasn’t any hold on me.
I would no longer ponder
over and over
about what was taking place
on the roof of the house
across the street.
Why not take a look
and see what I can see?
What could be happening
with that old palm tree?
Soft breezes blow
the faded golden branches
in the sun’s sweet glow.
Something called my name
as I peered through
the window pane,
I was drawn to the image
across the lane.
Ah, it is a woman again!
A lovely young lady,
holding her baby.
For a moment I consider
this apparition to be. . .
The Madonna and Child!
She could be Mother Earth
holding Baby Time!
Either way,
the vision is fine,
and the privilege is mine!
The transcendent femme
was holding him
tenderly in her arms
on the roof of the house
across the street,
however miraculously
that could be!
The babe was nursing,
suckling and thriving,
while living on the branches
of The Tree of Life.
The funky, strange, old tree
in the yard
of the house
across the street!
They appeared warm and free.
She smiled at him lovingly
as the wind blew through
her soft shiny hair.
The sun shone on her face
and she tightened her embrace.
They were alone in their bliss,
and I saw her don a kiss
on the head of her cherubim.
How could I be so incredibly proud?
They were not in the least
interested in me
as I uttered aloud,
“Go in peace, my angels,
Go in peace.”
In my heart they rest,
forever basking
in their timeless love
forsaking everything
that has or will ever exist –
at least that I myself
observed high above
in the yard
of the house
across the street
by that strange,
old,
funky
tree!
Melissa Reyes
original 5-23-02
revised 2-7-2012

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