Ninth Elm
       

In my dream the deer are surviving on tangerine-colored
bouquets

and in my dream I've lost a
favorite friend.

I wake up
skittish and remember what the

arborist said—

All your elms are dying, all eight
must be removed.

To curb the
spread, he said.

Of disease,
he said.

And in my body's memory and from my night of grief
I know

it's not a choice, what the deer resort to—

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Copyright © 2016 Margaret Hanshaw All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission