American Sycamore · Boston Mill Visitor Center

In Which the American Sycamore and I are Formally Introduced

X
by Megan Lubey

It’s summer and the American 
Sycamore remembers—children bound by 
plastic jump rope to her trunk, 
the swift impact of pink handlebars 
on bark. She knows, because she’s been 
whispered to, that love can be a dirty kitchen table, 
pail and shovel at your feet. 

You and I, American Sycamore, are the same, 
both wrecked with autumn. Both exciting 
ourselves bare. We are both so handsome! 
We are both so hollow. Both gold and red 
and brown. You in your fruit, 
I, in my corduroy jacket. We both wish 
childhood was closer once again. 
Once again, you remember like the camera— 
it is all lost on me. 

In winter you are persistent and still standing— 
this is where you and I differ. It is December and I 
yearn & I yearn & you christmas yourself 
with an easy harvest. You stand in vintage Limited Too 
camouflage pants tinted blue as the snow-light washes 
the indigo sky yellow. You’re regal. 
You’re still glowing. Quiet, I think, 
is a better word for cold. 

American Sycamore! Look at that sky! 
And you against it! The clouds melt 
into rainbow sherbet. The ants tickle your skin. 
Tenderness rides in with the breeze. I forgot the air 
could carry sympathy. I remembered 
when your dirt warmed. You knew. 
You could always see further than me. 
I sprout with the worms. We take shower after shower. 
It’s time to get clean again.

ABOUT

Traveling Stanzas community arts projects bring poetry to people’s everyday lives through innovative methods and digital platforms.