Poetry of Issue #8        Page 79

Looking at a spruce on a late spring morning

In the neighbor’s yard, needles from
a spruce prick the sky

not taller than the pink and white house
it stands behind.

A large shady maple selfishly spreads
its branches

A white viburnum shelters a Spirea
that cannot feel the warmth.

the weepy cypress keeps pace with the spruce
Is it difficult to survive separated from others?

My neighbor appears on her deck
she doesn’t think we can see her

but the artificial blue robe
disturbs the natural colors surrounding her

she stares at the sprightly spruce
then turns away to give her attention

to her husband in his yellow and white work tee
drinking steaming mugs of coffee

but the decades old spruce is set apart
quiet, alone, dressed up, waiting.

  Margaret R. Sáraco