the tree

I can't believe you ripped out the tree

A native and thriving wattle

its roots gone down in battle with the hard packed ground

its leaves lifted until they found the sun above the roof

I watched it grow from my position on the couch

after rain events I felt the branches turn 

gentle and smart, protecting from the heat, an art.

Each season bought the pods, nestled under blooms

green then brown before they released their bounty

maybe a seed has flown, pushed by the wind

until it latches to the earth

in crevice, crack or corner

sending forth the smallest shoot

that I may never see

I can't believe you ripped out the tree