by Christine Sikorski
As if what matters is
polishing up the place,
fabricating another lush,
green display, before he
is forced to walk away
from the people’s house
(now half rubble),
the president had 430
sycamores, maples,
cherries, willows
cut down.
While I pray
that offspring
of the murdered trees
have flown, fallen
into ready earth, and
begun to heed the sun,
they will not be enough—
if current human young
and all that follow
are to breathe and run
and enjoy a world
more whole than this one,
from which the felon
stole so much.
What then?
Let us demand a grand
replanting, the man who
ordered this destruction
down on his knees with
trowel and dirty hands,
crawling from one
tender sapling to
another, repenting.
polishing up the place,
fabricating another lush,
green display, before he
is forced to walk away
from the people’s house
(now half rubble),
the president had 430
sycamores, maples,
cherries, willows
cut down.
While I pray
that offspring
of the murdered trees
have flown, fallen
into ready earth, and
begun to heed the sun,
they will not be enough—
if current human young
and all that follow
are to breathe and run
and enjoy a world
more whole than this one,
from which the felon
stole so much.
What then?
Let us demand a grand
replanting, the man who
ordered this destruction
down on his knees with
trowel and dirty hands,
crawling from one
tender sapling to
another, repenting.
Christine Sikorski’s work has appeared in The New Verse News, coastlines, Waterstone, Little Patuxent Review, Quartet, One Art, This Was 2020: Minnesotans Write About Pandemics and Social Justice in a Historic Year, and elsewhere. Her honors include a Minnesota State Arts Board Grant and Academy of American Poets Prizes. She has taught at two universities, the Loft Literary Center, a homeless shelter, a community center, and other venues. She lives with her family in Minneapolis.
