The Small Maple

Decorative, bronze-leaved,
Planted as a seedling
Beside the Harold bench—

The old memorial,
Not the new, ugly one
Now on the other side

Of you, successful tree.
The new bench has been tagged
With plain white graffiti.

The sun sets on the tree.
Three girls play in the waves,
Pretending to be fish.

You live a life. Let’s say
You die too young. Someone
Pays to install a bench

In the town park, your name
On a plaque. Nothing brings
You back, of course, but that

Odd item may become
A part of someone’s life,
Of many someone’s lives,

Who return and return
To the bench with your name,
Which becomes part of them

For a while, no less than,
For a while, it was part
Of you. And the tree, too.