Poem-a-Day

I miss my magnolias, miss my maples, think
Where did they go?, think, Oh yes, to the past,
that place where everything goes and can I visit? 
No, but also Yes. And can I stay away? Also Yes,
but also No. And in the same way that languages 
only get simpler, people only get sadder. Yesterday 
at the dentist I thought Thank God for nitrous oxide 
and I thought Thank God for Dr. Rachel drilling away 
in my tooth but wanting nothing she does to hurt me.
I wish that were true all the time. That we all wanted
nothing we did to hurt anyone at all. My friend 
with a beautiful house insists that we call his pet 
a companion animal, which I don’t think changes 
very much, but I want nothing that I do to hurt him, 
so I call his dog a companion animal, and then 
I think Is that what my trees were? Not really 
my trees, but companion trees, offering me their flowers 
and then their leaves, offering me their oxygen 
in exchange for my carbon dioxide, not exactly grateful 
for my copious applications of neem oil to kill 
the parasites invading their branches but flourishing 
in the absence of those pests, the flowers
and leaves all I really wanted in return. I miss 
my companion trees, my flowering Jane, 
my flowering Brown Beauty, my flowering Star,
my leafy red maples, scarlet and feathery
all summer. My friend’s companion animal is licking 
my face and my friend asks Could you be content 
anywhere? And I say Yes, I can be content anywhere, 
but then I think Is that true? Of course it’s easy 
to be content at my handsome friend’s beautiful house, 
by his heated pool, in what might be a physical manifestation
of contentment if ever there was one. So I think it again 
on the subway, think it again writing e-mails, think it again 
making breakfast: Yes, I can be content anywhere,
but alas sadly: No. It’s not true. I can’t be content here
in my uncomfortable present, in my uncomfortable chair,
on the uncomfortable subway, at this uncomfortable desk,
in this uncomfortable classroom. But oddly, I am content 
to visit the past, to say Hello everything I’ve lost, 
to say I wish you could come here to the present, 
my lost companion trees. I wish you could meet 
everything I’ve found.