They are a stand of bitter wisdom trees
eyes revolving inwards like moons
beguiling faces smiling down upon us.
They don’t mention (or only in passing)
the ways the world is slipping from them:
the deft departure of the boyhood friend,
the driver’s license routinely revoked,
the inability to leave the bath without resting
—shamefully—on its side.
Soon they’re talking of other things,
our things, pressing things like
which school to put the children in or
where to go this year on holiday…
it must take all their strength and love
to play along with folly; sustain fantasy
of growth without decline. Hold back
the hidden long enough to lend us time to flower;
immure us from what cankers in their limbs—
our inheritance, rank knowledge
© Michele Seminara
First published in Bluepepper, 2014.