The New Landscape
I’ve bundled branches, sawed stumps low,
cut down in twenty minutes
what took years and years to grow.
What do you think the neighbors know
about the severed limbs that jut
from bundled branches, their stumps sawed low?
The taxus and squared boxwood woe
the push and pull as the hand saw cuts
down what took them forty years to grow.
A younger resident, I want to show
ambitious feats to hide my ruts
I left from bundled branches, stumps sawed low.
Even though the overgrown are gone, I know
I will remember every butt
of what took forty years to grow.
So leave the Rose of Sharon shoots to show
a fragment of the past, stubborn infant
witness to the bundled branches, stumps sawed low –
I, too, am a remnant of what took years and years to grow.