The Old Newspaper

In the center of an intersection

in the small town

stands a dying tree

with all its branches

cut to the trunk

whose roots

are still buried in the earth

where messages were posted

for all to see

The town moves around it now

never noticing

there is no growth

because this limbless tree

this place to discuss

the life in this town

shrinks daily

as invisible sparks

easily erased

chip away at its pulp

The town still grows

but the conversations

take place

far outside of it

The lives

of grandparents

who raised the children

of the town

with a cup of coffee

and a few crackers

at a kitchen table

who fixed a watch

at the local jewelry store

their lives preserved in the few lines

of their obituaries

may completely disappear

if set into an electric file

and not some deep

earthen vault

dry and safe

kept from the harm

of solar winds

infestations

and shaking crust

will still remain

until the earth itself

is destroyed

Say what you will

about saving trees

no meeting place

no place of memory

is as comfortable or real

as a tree turned into pages

for the eyes of a reader

Barry G. Wick