Driving through
The tree-lined neighborhood,
She saw her life and time
Consistently undervalued.
Not by people
In the abstract, but
By those who knew, and know, her best.
Like trees you drive by
But don’t really notice;
Trees that provide shelter,
Beauty,
Even breathable air,
Blur into
An indifferent landscape.
One grove,
With roots that touch and
Intertwine;
And us, looking past the trees,
And noticing some spilled litter, or
A crooked mailbox
