Soul

There is a beautiful tree in my backyard.
I watched it change colors
For twenty-nine falls.

First, we had to transplant it from one country to another -
It lost a couple of leaves on its way but the branches grew stronger.
We carried it from one city to the next, to the next, and the next,
But plants don’t like to move it just needed to rest
To take roots,
To stay grounded.

When I was thirteen,
My tree developed dark, deathly dots.
We tried to figure out the cause of those black spots,
But it seemed like a lost case.
We called a gardener, a botanist,
A horticulturist, an arborist, a biologist,
Until they covered my tree in a cloud
Of mist, and I wasn’t allowed
To touch it for days no matter how hard I would insist.

Instead, I used to watch it from the window on the roof.
But since then, I once again decided to move.
Oh, look at my petite tree!, 
it now radiates beauty on my balcony.

There is a little girl in my garden,
And it gives me pleasure to be her anchor, to shield her heart an’
Soul. She can lean against me while she grows up.
We support each other when no one else shows up.
Sometimes, I shade her face from the sun with my burly body.
Sometimes, she would tell me stories she wouldn’t share with anybody.
She flung herself against me when they wanted to cut me down.
I will tickle her with my leaves to make sure she’ll never frown.

© Elena Natroshvili