Hackberries

The trees are our neighbors
-Meg Wade

Gentrification
comes, finally,

even for the trees
in our neighborhood.

Our old neighbors
were trash

trees—diseased,
they said.

Coughed mold,
shook soot.

Turned everything
black. Invasive.

Take over
in urban areas

like this.
Die young.

Cut down now,
ground out.

Replaced
with trendy

sticks. The new
neighbors have

no roots.
Give

no protection
from the sun,

no berries
for the birds,

no arms
to hold

or swing
our children.

They give
nothing

but cleaner cars
and stronger fences.

A couple of knotted
old grandmothers

linger at the end
of the street,

broken,
sclerotic.

We know
their names.

They babysat us
in the summers.

Gave us
our first tools

and weapons-
katana and staff

for all color
of ninja turtle.

These boiled branches
held us. Hold us.

Bear witness
to the blight.