You took us to the mountains
to show us the forestland
we would inherit-
the three of us.
I don't remember what
my two siblings were promised,
but mine was the old chestnut grove.
Ancient, contorted trees
offering green, spiky parcels
cradling leathery fruit.
Trees native to the land,
unlike the eucalyptus
crowding all around us.
I think about that grove-
seen only once
four decades ago,
three of those you've been gone.
Your will, still unsettled,
the land still waiting,
the trees still bearing chestnuts
every fall.
The Chestnut Grove by Dolo Diaz | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
