Saying Goodbye . . .

Live Oaks, New Orleans

by Jennifer Maier

They square off along Napoleon avenue,


opposing armies of dark women, leaning out

so far their branches meet at the top, like hands


grabbing fistfuls of tangled hair;


and some of them are old, with the thick,


scarred trunks of Storyville madams, and 


roots so strong their suck heaves


up the sidewalk like so many broken


saltines. And some are young, with the


straightbacked bodies of girls who dream


of horses and the brown arms of the neighbor boys,


but underground the red roots grow together,


fuse in a living circuitry spun deep and


stronger than the whims of emperors, as if


they've known all along that earth's the right


place for love, as though, planted in battle lines,


they incline toward the circle, and hold it open,


vaulted and welcoming.