We’ve been in Gettysburg today, at the Gettysburg National Military Park. It’s an amazing place–not any one part, but as a whole. For example, the whole area runs only a few miles in each direction. Ridges and rocks, farms and orchards. A lot of trees. When you hear about famous battles, or parts of them–Pickett’s Charge, say–and then you realize it is pretty much like having a battle that crosses a football field-sized ground, or maybe two football fields, end to end, it’s hard not to be surprised.
And one of the surprises? The trees. One tree in particular.
Because a tree, if left to its own devices, is one of those long-term witnesses of history. And tree lines, where hundreds of artillery could face off against each other and pound the opposing lines for hours on end, played a major part in the three day Battle of Gettysburg.
I know, I should be more impressed with other things–the memorials to the thousands that fought, were injured or captured or killed or missing — over 50,000 casualties or captured in just three days — but frankly it is hard to get my head around that kind of number. No amount of touring or walking or wandering a museum will bring that home to me. Time to let it sink in, that’s what’s needed.
And the trees, that’s what they have – time. They represent that time. They have those long memories. So here’s a short poem for one of those trees:
One Tree
135 years ago, and many more, before.
Arms still stretching further. Yes, leaves,
for now, until Winter rolls around. Yes,
a portion of shade for robin & rock alike.
There was a moment. So long, and also gone
before those leaves could crinkle up
against the smoke and cries of men.
Still the same farmhouse, over there.
Still the same grasses, trying to spread.
The same angle: downhill.
The same stench: death.
The same sage and golden-green hills.
And blackened blood seeped beneath.
If you enjoyed One Tree
You’ll find more of my poems on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print.
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