MarthaÂs Tree by Maureen GlaudeTaking shade
at the brown picnic table
at the far corner of
Toms lawn
by the line fence
near the main street
and beneath the large Manitoba Maple
over a hundred years old, he estimates
Tom and I enjoyed the July breeze
on a sultry Sunday afternoon
restoring our energy and spirits
after trying weeks of health concerns
for both of us
high above us stretched the screened-in
black trimmed verandah
against the white exterior of the top floor
below it the small front porch and steps
graced by the pillars and white paint, black trim
wed sat here like this
countless afternoons or evenings
on the times together
through summer into fall now summer again, since
Id met Tom, my friend whos eighty-two
whose wife Martha now lives away
in involuntary estrangement
due to her illness
on that one afternoon
breaking up the stretches of his
solitude, and what Tom calls killing time
wed chatted over and over
about the landscape and architecture
the tomato and marigold garden
the squirrels and crows
the tree friends of varied species
the lilac bushes
honoring our view
and about the people going past the corner lot
on bikes, in cars and on foot
making their way to the near-by grocery store
some of them, he knew, and told me of, some
hed never seen before
but that Sunday break became one of those times,
that had become rarer for us now
but much like the first day
he had brought me here
when hed shared Marthas presence
with me
it happened when Tom stretched his arm out and pointed
speaking in a tone rich with pride
and a simple somethingelse
Thats Marthas tree.
He indicated the one over the front gate
near the cement walk a few feet across from us
Id passed it every time
I took the front path to the door
or whenever Id left that way to take
his buggy back to the grocery store
or waited there, for Meals on Wheels
to pull up with his lunch
smaller than the others on the property
a low-hanging soft green tree
more delicate somehow
standing by the entranceway
from the sidewalk
and giving generous shade
to the glassed-in front porch
where Toms exercise bike
is parked
I wondered if Martha had chosen the site
to beautify the path
approaching their colonial home
or to cool and enhance
the front window view
had she expressed the need for one
for weeks, or was it a spontaneous inspiration?
I restrained from asking
Ive learned when it comes to her
to let Tom be the gauge
of how much should be said
or inquired about
she lives the living death of Alzheimers
apart from him
after years of his care
until it grew into a monster
they could not control
and took her away years ago
to the long-term care institution
even when he visits her there
the ailment dominates
imposing that distance
between them now; except for miracle moments
and bonds he works to build
or bring back
tenderly, taking her hand
as he did for the family photograph
when their son brought his new bride
his dad and the bridal party to the home
to include Martha in his wedding
but shes still Toms cherished wife
who was always a fine generous woman, married to
a man of the same character
everyone from all their boarders past to present
to their children and neighbours, say
but no-one had to tell me
hes rich with anecdotes and journals
he revives for me when he feels up to it
at eighteen she became his bride
hed known it would happen
from the first evening they met
they grew together as a couple
whod help out anyone in need
raised a happy family
suffered the loss of one grown son, to a car accident
another Tom rescued when fire engulfed
his upstairs bedroom
years ago
some people think theres no such thing
as enduring love in marriage, these days
I dont inquire much
theres a line Ive learned to watch for
that pulls him into the territory of heartbreak
but I love to listen to his tributes
and their humorous or touching memories
when he opens up and sets them free
on the air, heaven scented on the lilac breeze
or in the fall
scattered in shy whispers amid the acorns
I wish that she could hear him
perhaps she does
I often sense her presence
that seemed to welcome mine
shes given me signs
like the note of hers
we found once, telling him to give
it (her winter scarf)
to the girl in the white chair,
(where Id just been sitting
as he was going through her things)
Thats Marthas Tree? I repeated on that Sunday
it was all I needed to know
all that needed to be said
Yup, that one, over there. Its a Manitoba Maple, too, he offered
adding that she had started it as
as a mere twig
the other Manitoba and the old oaks dwarf it
a juvenile compared to
the giants across the lawn
wordlessly, we sat a while
reverent attendants at a ceremony
listening to the breeze lift the leaves
over the sidewalk at the gate
as I imagined all the plans and dreams
the whys, the anticipation
in the tucking into the soil here
of her hopes
for that plant
that couple
and their three sons, this home
surely, deep down within its roots
it still remembers
her nurture --
Marthas tree 07/05/2002
Posted on 05/10/2004 Copyright © 2024 Maureen Glaude
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/11/04 at 02:00 PM Another anecdotal story poem to pull on the heart strings. I'm sure Tom would be flattered by it. |
Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 05/13/04 at 10:10 PM this was an incredibly long read, and you had me weeping half-way through... your story-telling skills always capture me... excellent writing, maureen... blessings... |
Posted by Thomas K. Hunt on 09/04/05 at 05:28 PM This is so wonderful.....the imagery and memeory lane it takes you down is excellent. I lost a grand mother years ago to Alzheimer's and I can relate so well of what my grand father had to go through....I so enjoyed this piece...going in my favorites |
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