His Elm Tree
My grandfather’s tree in the family. yard, high up in the zigana mountains hidden in plain sight. Grinning through other trees like our worst kept secret. Swinging slowly in the wind singing his favorite song to unsuspecting passersby eavesdropping. Now rotten. and taken down with tears of defeat in its place a shadow of a tall thin man in a suit weeps like an ewe calling out in the morning fog for its lost henna stained baby.