My tree
is a refugee
just an outcast
from the woods
where all perfect
trees are groomed
But I do not mind
I am a refugee as
well born but to
immigrancy
you seeÂ
Orphans
of the war
we were when
we put out to sea
Emigrants of lands
incendiaries`singed
atom`melted cities
Immigrating then
adopted now
as orphans
of war
My Papa
taught me
of yule trees
He’d cut three
one for its trunk
one for its branch
one for a garnish
on window sills
from imperfect
trees he made
perfection