Our Forest

When my mother’s mother died
We planted a tree in her stead
As her mother’s mother did before

By the time I will die
My children’s children will plant me
Under her outstretched boughs
As their children’s children will for them

In this forest of my kin there will be
The richest soil in all the land
Our descendants will feast
On each plump peach
That we carry in our outstretched arms

They may climb our spines
To grasp our ancestral arboretum
They may build their houses
Upon our collective shoulders
And sing with the mourning doves

Until they too
Will become a bird’s roost
And bear the fruit of our generations
And generations
And generations more
Will brush our hands against the sky