A tree poem from Puerto Vallarta.

David and Liz Garlick are longtime friends of my parents, from way back when (the 1960s I suppose) in the days of Awali, Bahrain. I must have met them as a baby, but I'm not sure. But they've been one of my life's "traditions" because every year they would send us a long Christmas letter, with photographs and stories of their family (and they still do!)

So as a little girl and then a teenager and then an adult, I would always look forward to their letter. It is a bit magical to get that letter every year, to see how their children grew, where they went, what they did, their highs and lows, their joys and griefs, their gifts and their losses.

Eventually, I too starting writing back to them, and now thanks to email, manage to keep in touch more than once annually. When I wrote to them about my PlantMeATree dream, they wrote back to assure me that there would soon be a fruit tree growing for me at their home in Canada.

David - who is a poet and sends me some of his beautiful writing from time to time - also sent me this poem that he had written during one of his many travels:

A TREE.

A tree on a hill.
Not on the crest, just on the side.
There are many other trees
higher up, lower down.
I will never be a huge tree;
just a tree!
A breeze wafts, my leaves flutter.
A wind blows, my branches move
and my leaves speak.
A gale blasts and my twigs fall,
my leaves are rent.
The rain slants!
It is wet, it cleans
but I do not understand this.
I do not care anyway.
It happens!
I am a tree.
Nothing more.
Only small plants are less.
I do not think.
I do not care.
It does not matter;
for I am just a tree.

David Garlick.
Puerto Vallarta, Feb. 2001.

"Where do all the dead babies go ..

Where do all the dead babies go?
In some bright garden my son runs free
Laughs and plays with all the others
that were never meant to be
I wonder if he remembers
Gently stirring in my womb before -
And if it hurt him as much as it hurt me, or more?
I want him never to know, never to miss
A mother's touch, a mother's kiss.
For one day I may hold his sister or brother,
But he can never have another mother.

(Written on Jan 17th Sat. 1987, 9:50 pm.)

In case you are wondering, I have never been pregnant.

"The pain ..

The pain in my heart
Echoes the pain in my womb
Dark drops of blood
Mime the tears I'm not supposed to cry
I'm lonelier than I was before
Would you have looked like me?
Or did you have his eyes?
One day I shall show your little sister
All the things I was waiting to show you
Teach her the songs you were going to sing
Call her name and think of yours
That only you and I know.

(Written on 29/11/86)

After reading the comment that followed this, I felt I ought to clarify that I've  never had a  miscarriage, and never been pregnant.