planting an oak

When the work is over it rains and washes the sweat and sod from my back and brow.

Rick tells us, from his seat on the tailgate, of prior conquests and groundbreakings. I learn of

camel spiders in Afghanistan and mud walls and the girls down in New Orleans and how

you are glad to see a woman’s face again because they are soft and kind – even to a stranger.

And all the while we talk and drink, corresponding with our former selves, the oak out front spreads root and grows thicker – ready to outlast the each of us.

Brian Flynn Class of 2021