The Evergreen

by Sarah Smith


When I come back,
I can’t help but be nostalgic,
Remember everything I loved,
Give in to the heaviness of missing it all.

Remember when the massive tree in front
Was tiny, with roots tucked in a burlap sack,
Tied with twine, concealed with a red skirt
Mom hemmed carefully, decorated with grosgrain ribbon.

The sapling sat on top of the table,
Out of reach of the baby’s grasp.
Adorned with lights, tinsel, ornaments
Until the presents were opened.

Remember when after the ground thawed,
Dad dug a hole, planted it in the very center of the yard,
Took a photograph, and the
Years passed slowly.

Unnoticed, the tree grew as we did.
Now, everyone is gone.
Yet, the tree remains,
Towering over the roof.


* * * * *

Sarah Smith is a board-certified family physician, an author and a mother of two. Her first book, The Doctor Will Be Late, was published earlier this year. She has also been published in Kevin MD, Brief Wilderness, and Sheila-Na-Gig online. She holds a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Notre Dame and a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine from Ohio University. She lives in Tampa, Florida.