Acorns Poem by Gloria Kim

I put in seeds today - acorns
from trees in the neighborhood:
black oak, red oak, willow oak, pin oak.
Solid names for solid trees, fifty years and growing.

With the seeds I planted flags
in anonymous squares of nursery dirt:
blue tag, red tag, yellow and green -
coded keys to mark which place, which seeds, lie buried where.

Winter is closing in.
I can feel the first touch of frost:
distance, lassitude, weariness of soul -
markers I have seen before on the path down into loss.

Buried deep, I will be still,
in fearful hibernation,
giving in to the killing frost,
and dormant in darkness, await a chilly spring.