Antique Trees

by Gilda Altman
 

Like old neighbors

unnoticed until they’re gone,

the maples, planted fifty years ago,

are disappearing here, one by one,

brought down by fear—

as though you could fear a tree.

Rumors surface—plumbing uprooted,

fallen limbs denting cars, health hazards—

as though a tree could be hazardous to your health.

Theories surface—fewer trees, fewer birds to

dirty the sidewalks.

Too much shade, they say, ruins lawns.
 

I’d like to think we won’t miss the trees

anymore than we miss the Indians—

they were once our enemies too.
 

I’d like to think the squirrels will find

other places for their acrobatics.
 

I’d like to think the kid with his lemonade stand

will coax his customers to sip and rest

in the shade of the telephone pole.
 

I’d like to think we still value antiques.
 

© Altman 2026