John Michael Stewart
Tree Rings
In my father’s backyard, we swat away black flies. With chainsaws buzzing, the air fills with a cypress’s spicy aroma. We trim the branches and lay them in a pile before a wood chipper. My father gestures toward some elms crowding out holly bushes and hydrangeas. I stomp through the undergrowth to reach them with an electric pole saw. My ears sweat under the protective earmuffs. Despite leather gloves, a splinter buries itself into my palm. How many decades has it taken for these trees to grow? It takes seconds for the chipper to chew them up. Spit them out. My father flips a switch after the last elm travels through the feed chute. The grumble and grind halts. “We got one more,” he says, pointing to the memorial tree he planted twenty years earlier after my brother’s funeral.
“But that’s Frank’s tree,” I say.
My father’s shoulders sag. “The roots are damaging the septic system. I have no choice.”
felling the cherry tree
pink petals cling
to our boots
About the Author
Joshua Michael Stewart is the author of Break Every String, The Bastard Children of Dharma Bums, and Love Something. His work has appeared in the Massachusetts Review, Salamander, Modern Haiku, Frogpond and many others. He lives in Ware, Massachusetts.