Arts + Scene » Poetry

Eucalypts Over the Water



They're not from this place
The Eucalyptus trees spearing the sky
Their naked trunks below near gleaming in the morning sun
Massive branches and leaves darkly silhouetted against backlit morning fog

The trees reach wide and tall near the bay
It's a negative tide and little wriggles of water sparkle in the sun
The water moves four times a day
Same with most of the people, the old joke goes
Many of us too are not from here

The branches shelter a lone and rusting railroad car
It's not from here either
But year on year, the place claims the old iron
Envelops it, hugs it to itself, draws it in

I speed past them now, the vast trees
Smudges of muted bronze and pearl white and moss green
Even in my hurry, I feel them exhale a weighty permanence
Breathy on my neck
With a scent of lemon and antiseptic

We know they're not from this place
But might they at last be of this place?

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