The lithe branches,
the solid trunks,
the leaves atilt
in summer sun.
What trees know
they know from
what the rains bring,
what’s carried
on the breeze, from
their railroad of roots
under the gridwork
of our streets. Some trees
bear our very scars. High up
On their bark, up
in their crook of arms,
up in the traffic
of leaves: fact cleaves.
The message
is only now arriving
in my city and yours,
and on the far shores
of the nationless sea.
A man was lynched yesterday
is what some trees
seem to say.
_____________________________________
“Some Trees” excerpted from Such Color. Copyright © 2021 by Tracy K. Smith. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota
