The little fir

Nothing to do but bodybag the poor thing

I was going to hang a string
of green lights on the little fir
"It will show you how wonderful
it can be, to be green again,"
I encouraged, untangling
dry bows, but the inside of the tree
was brown. My ministrations
caused a rainfall 
of needles. Nothing to do
but bodybag the poor thing,
carry it down four floors
to our recycling room
discretely, hoping no one would notice
the trail of conifer blood,
the silent evergreen cries.
It was heavy but I heaved it 
into the green bin, shook it
to release some of its root ball.
Still the little fir stood tall
enough to prevent the closing
of the lid. I couldn't bear to break
her, and wasn't that trunk
a bit too resilient
too green
to be dead?
I hurried away, scuttled really
pulling my dog out of the basement
behind me. But we both looked back
at the bin, its top half-resting
on the little fir's crown

This is my daily poem from Nov 3, Poem A Day 2025 on The Waters Poetry Workshop.

In her book, Finger Exercises for Poets, Dorianne Laux has a chapter titled “Writing from Daily Life.” Laux encourages poets to write daily. “Don’t wait. If you want to be a writer, you have to write. Find a time that works for you and develop a practice. Don’t wait for inspiration.”

This is a good reminder for me. So often I feel like picking up my pen but then stop, thinking I have nothing left to write about. I’ve been a poet for a quarter of a century - what more could I say?

This month, I’m going to ‘write from daily life’ and I’ll share some of it with you!