Ellie Shumaker
Cypress
We are sure it is dead,
this bald, old cypress
with its dry brown-needled arms;
But its knees are drawn up
with a playful pull
from the river's tickle,
and its sing-song bark
curves into a thousand slow smiles;
So perhaps this death
is but one more variation
of life's favorite joke,
the one, that with perfect timing
waits for the punchline of spring.