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January 15th, 2026
by Scott McConnaha
It died slowly for me,
I think, this Cottonwood
that was such a loyal presence
in my life.
For each of the past few seasons
another section bore no leaves
until now, not a single promising bud
appears in the upstretched
skeletal remains.
I write this beneath
the unfallen carcass that
for years has shaded and housed
and comforted my past.
I'll miss staring into its spirited beauty.
No leaves dance like a Cottonwood's.
I've done my share of defending it
against those who offer
uninvited opinions about these
messy trees,
and even this tree-ist little town
dares single it out as a nuisance
in ordinance section 6-4-6-(e)
and declares that we giving safe harbor
shall cause the same to be removed.
What none of them could know
is how this tree intuitively
connected me
to my childhood on the Great Plains
where the Cottonwood is king
and a boy's boredom and longing
is passed through hours of looking
toward a far off horizon.
This one that I now touch
stands on that line of trees
I always thought were too far away.
About the Poet
Scott McConnaha resides in Plymouth, Wisconsin, United States.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Scott McConnaha's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Poetry World #14, published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Keywords: favourite tree, love of trees, cottonwood
Previously published in Chicago Poetry Magazine:
Gigantopithecus
by Isiah Janisch
Chicago Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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