This Time It's the Maple

our neighbor strives to manage sunlight
on a square where grass won’t grow

My lawn is perfect except for those
damn trees
he groused to my husband and me
while out surveying his property
a hand placed on each hip
a man of the manor

soon after I watch
from an upstairs window
of a sparse space we still call
Lindsey’s room though
she moved out years ago
here to bear witness to his next
tree cutting

this time it’s the maple
with limbs strong and supple
her red lobed leaves
like a prima ballerina
who commands reverence

workers step into harnesses
the arborist nods
a tree cutter climbs up
two on the ground clutch ropes

falling timbers vibrate
ricochet through
the quiet Cul de Sac

 I, breathe, bow
close my eyes
the closest I can come to a prayer

 Jennifer B. Kahnweiler is a non-fiction author of five books and a poet based in Atlanta, GA. A favorite aunt gifted her with a book of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s work and she was hooked. She started writing poems during the pandemic and received the annual Natasha Trethewey poetry prize from the Atlanta Writers Club. Her poems have appeared in the Avalon Literary Review and MacQueen's Quinterly.