“When do you feel most free?” I ask the chokecherry tree by the garage.

This year, early March. Sap was rising. My leaves going to be the first.
Everything was there for me. And it turned out a pretty good season.

“Doesn't it bother you that it's mid-July and you have dying leaves?”

No. Let the oak be the oak. Mr. Late Leaf. I want my pick of seats.
So what if I have to wait until the cold play starts? I wait gladly.

“What about when you blossom, and fruit sets, and birds eat it—feel free then?”

I wouldn't use the word 'free' then. But 'sensuous,' yes! That minor pang
of masochism. What you get when you worry a mouth-sore with your tongue.
Or somebody sucks your nipples just a smidgen of a tug too hard.
No. Freedom for me comes before the heavy breathing. Before the love.

“So how do you prepare ahead to have sap running early in March?”

A small trick. Must be instinctual. It just occurred to me one day:
make bitter little cherries. And then stop. Start storing next spring's sugar.
Fruiting doesn't need to be a pissing contest. Each drupe's begging me—
'Please. Just a tiny bit more.' But I wrestle with myself. I hold back.

THIS is 'sensuous'.  Always suspected that chokecherry was a tease.  'Most free'?  'Before the love'?  Ha!  Whatta killer.

Thanks, Cheryl!
You gotta wonder about these trees, all one big nerve ending -- nor not?
Tom

moving to Submit

Tom, I'm not getting two distinct voices.  Maggie

Thank you, Maggie. I made some adjustments to distinguish the voices a bit more. I don't see them as entirely distinct maybe, but more as the voice of the N and a voice he imagines from the tree. Tom

Interesting, Tom.  I've read a few times now.  Gone away, come back.  Something argues my liking the whole of it.  First off, the title drew me in.  Later, I wondered why mention location by the garage if garage or further locating details aren't added.  What I mean is, there seems a missed opportunity -- for what, I can't say, except maybe layering, or unifying elements in the poem.  When I read Maggie's comment regarding the voices, I thought maybe that was partially it too.  Then read your response and can see what you mean.  But the move to the Really? line and away from initial 'feel most free' question, doesn't [i think, feel free to ignore] offer an image of the N that's, I dunno, likeable [?] because no time is spent in consideration of the answer, just a swoop into negativity, a dismissive 'Really?'

ld

an amazing turn in this.
wonderfully calculated
and performed!  i
enjoyed this.

tiko

Tiko, thank you!
Lynn, thank you too for your thoughts. Re garage, I see what you mean, but don't want to make a "thing" of it because really I'm using that detail to say "it's no big thing, a junk tree."
I think your point about N's abrupt mood change is right, though. Let me go see if I can smooth that. Tom

Biffing the Really? helps.  Wondered about maybe putting a ? after This year? Early March. [etc.]

Thanks again, Lynn. I am not going to add that ?, but looking at it all, I'm taking your idea the other way and removing other interrogatory inflections from the tree's lines later in the poem. Tom

I think your adjustments helped differentiate the voices.

;)

...and round we go...!
thanks for keeping track of this, Lynn.
Tom

Some thoughts, Tom.  Maggie

“When do you feel most free?” I ask the chokecherry tree by the garage.

This year, early March. Sap was rising. My leaves were going to be the first.
Everything was there for me. And it turned out a pretty good season.

“Doesn't it bother you that it's mid-July and you have dying leaves?”

No. Let the oak be the oak. Mr. Late Leaf. I want my pick of seats.
So what if I have to wait until the cold play starts? I wait gladly.

“What about when you blossom, and fruit sets, and birds eat it—feel free then?

I wouldn't use the word 'free' then. But 'sensuous,' yes! That minor pang
of masochism. What you get when you worry a mouth-sore with your tongue.
Or somebody sucks your nipples just a smidgen of a tug too hard.
No. Freedom for me comes before the heavy breathing. Before the love.

“So how do you prepare ahead to have sap running early in March?”

A small trick. Must be One that's instinctual. I didn't think it up. It just
occurs to me: make bitter little cherries. And then stop. Start storing
next spring's sugar. Fruiting's not a pissing contest. Each drupe's begging me—
'Please. Just a tiny bit more.' But I wrestle with myself. I hold back.

good thoughts, Maggie. thanks! let me see what I can do with them. Tom