over a 

pine sapling

in my family’s orchard.

It’s two feet tall, barely 

passing my knee. 

I could tear it from the ground; 

sever the roots; and leave it 

for the fungi to feast on — 

It cannot stop me, nor protest.

But, if I let it grow, eventually, 

it will dwarf me. Then, try as I might

to wrest it from the earth, it will hold fast. 

So, I’ll let it be — to block BART’s screech and

the cacophony of

cars careening 

through the

 valley below.

 But remember,

I could’ve ripped you from the ground 

when  you  were  low.  Instead,  I  poured  into  you, 

and    now    you    tower    over    the    people    below.

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