The Coconut Palms Remember

The only witnesses who remain
are the coconut palms
my father’s father planted.

They still stand, tall and thin,
though their trunks
have curved with age,

and entwined in their rings
of fronds, my existence,
proof I lived there once,

on the same land
and played in the puddles
underneath their leaves.

These palms sensed my first steps
and felt my heels bear deep
into the dirt under my last

when I tried to stay with them.
The trees heard and watched
until I had to be dragged away.

Melissa Andrés is an American poet. Originally from Cuba, she came to the United States at the age of 6. She will complete her MFA in Creative Writing from Sarah Lawrence College in May 2020. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Laurel Review, Mom Egg Review, and Rattle Magazine. She is at work on her first collection of poetry.