Eastbound
At the end of their lives, the trees,
they tell us, Do not stay where you thin.
Can I speak about thinning? As a child
I wrote these poems I called A Plant Called Hope.
I loved sick plants and wanted more for them.
I loved my mother and wanted more for her.
I lost the small book then lost my grandmother
then lost her house then almost lost my mother.
Believe me when I say plants and people find
their way. This time, I am eastbound. A stranger
has the grace to ask me, "Are you ready to come
back to Virginia?" I stop believing in California:
it hurts too much. Tell me to have my easterly
shoes on. Tell me east will have me back, if
I love softly. I throw on my transition shoes.
Ask me again if I'm ready to come back
to Virginia. This time, ask me in front of the trees.
I'll find a place of rest in the middle of things.
____________________________
MaKshya Tolbert
Shade is a place
Penguin 2025
