Lifespan

 

There is a Santa Rosa plum tree,

which I planted on

the 118th day of 1975,

over a septic field,

in the more-or-less-an-acre 

at the end of Hyland Way,

a cul-de-sac 

on Sonoma Mountain,

in Penngrove, California.

I have visited there, 

seen that tree still lives,

quite spindly at 51, 

well past its plan,

somewhat like me at 82,

yet we both still bear fruit.

I am certain that part of who 

I am is due to that old tree

and part of that tree is due to me.