Mother

“And now I need To do something Excessively Indian So I will name All of the pine trees On the reservation. That one is Mother And that one over There is Mother And so is that third Pine in the valley And that tall one On the ridge is Mother.

Okay, I’m either lazy Or I have an arboreal strain Of Oedipus complex. So let me take this down A few degrees.

That pine, the closest one To my mother’s grave— I imagine its roots Will eventually feed On what my mother Will become After many years In the earth. So let my mother Be that tree And let that one tree Be my mother. And let my Mother Tree Turn every toxin Into oxygen So that my siblings And I can finally And simply breathe.”

― Sherman Alexie, You Don't Have to Say You Love Me