A Grove of Trees

I ate the kumquats and the clementines

and saved the seeds instead of throwing them

away. I’d hoped I’d get a couple trees.

Instead, from forty-seven seeds, I now

have forty-seven trees. I know. I know

the arguments. The fruit the trees produce

will not be any good, and even if

it is I’m still an idiot because

I will be in my eighties or be dead

before my seedlings give me any fruit.

And I agree. They’re right of course, and wrong.

My little three-inch trees are blossoming

already and there isn’t any need

to wait for years before the fruit is ripe.

It’s ripe right now. I eat a kumquat,

It’s orange and warm and glowing in the sun.

The juice and pulp are bitter, tart; and eat

a clementine and throw away the seeds

instead of saving them and planting them.

I have my trees already. I don’t need

to grow another grove of citrus. Now

I’m ten again and once again I’ve lost

the sense of time and space while I explore.

The world is green with mud, and elephants

are hiding in the weeds, and dinosaurs

are waiting for me right behind a tree.

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