By: Eduardo del Rio | Posted on: December 2018
For George Estrada
The giant tree has stood its ground
Far longer than the rest.
She is impervious to the sirens
And the vatos walking by.
The concrete swells around her edges.
Tugs incessantly at her toes.
Demands that she relinquish her hold
on the decaying barrio.
Occasionally she dreams of times
when women with gnarled limbs
delicately plucked her ripened fruit.
When desperate fathers invoked her name
in a long forgotten tongue.
When time was marked
by the coyote’s lullaby
and the chachalaca’s morning cry.
When she could stretch in the morning sun
And hear gods whispering in her ears.