The First of the Line

The tree is going to die soon.
I did not have it very long.
It is the second tree of this genus and species that I have owned.
The first I killed on purpose years ago in a slow rage-
I kept it by my bedside as it withered without water.

This tree got ants early on.
The ants came for the aphids, which came for the flowers,
which came out to try to kiss the sun as it arced above.
I put poison on the windowsill but that was not enough to dissuade them
and because I was not willing to poison every inch of the room
I put the tree outside in the sweltering heat of Arkansas summer.

I watched as the days went by
and the mercury in the thermometer climbed
thirty degrees Fahrenheit above the tree’s acceptable range.
I watched my tree defy its new environment for a time,
then fail to thrive.
I watched the fresh green shoots of spring die,
I watched the dove-white flowers torn apart by a thousand insects.
I watched the leaves shrink away desiccated,
their brown bodies thinner and thinner with each passing hour,
and tonight I watched their shadows flicker on the ground
while my tree’s last chance at life
floated away in a cool breeze beneath the light of the moon.
It would have lived if I could have accepted ants inside my room.