Spirit Tree

Spirit Tree

after Priscila Uppal

by Anna Yin

In Prospect Cemetery,
among poplar, cedar, maple,
I hope you found your tree–
a healing from heaven.

Here, in another city,
I see from my window
a full-grown willow–
ten years ago, it was a tiny twig
dropped in the valley.

Two years ago,
the year you passed, lightning
hit the willow and split her in two.
A year later,
from the open wound,
she grew new branches.

Have I found my spirit tree?
A breeze blows—new green leaves
touch me like a soft hand.

When winter comes,
I collect the fallen leaves,
slim, the shape of lips.
I slip them into books
of your poems.
They cling to one another,
a whispering forest of stories.