Tree Forks
by Ute Carson
Evening Street Review, Number 14, Spring 2016

On an ultrasound my uterus resembles the Tree of Life.
In its blood-paneled enclosure
my children were all mine.
Outside the womb they put down roots in different soil,
leafing out on branches of their own.
My sap still seeps through their arteries and veins
but I can no longer nourish their growth
or give them shelter.

How far has the fruit fallen?
Goethe wrote: "We cannot shape our children in our image.
We must love them as God gave them to us,
bring them up as best we can, and then let them be."
With the passage of time fresh starts blossom,
trembling with shades of rainbow colors,
and spreading their unique fragrances
while the old tree shakes its dusky leaves with pride.

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