Timber Of The Family Tree Poem by Sally Sandler

In the picture, he stands before
a tree—they said a sycamore—
his face the color of dusty leaves,
dry and drifting by his feet.

Shoulders stiff and lifted, he
leans for balance against the tree
and wears a smile, fixed and bright
as the Vega star in the autumn night.

The timber of the family tree,
blown and battered by winds from sea,
he bears his creased and crumbling bark
through stormy days, and colder dark.

Leafless—though he pays no mind—
bent, as well, by winds of time.
Layers of wisdom embrace his soul
like rings on the sycamore, as it grows old.