Avondale, Mourning Doves

by ERIN J. WATSON

Cottonwood, said the woman
in the rhinestoned ballcap that spelled
I ❤️ Jesus in rainbow plastic
as she bent to touch the roadside fluff.

Cottonwood, it looks like snow.

A smile, a small good thing.
And I assemble an ecology of tenderness
from painted rocks and paper cranes,
teddy bears and printed fists

Raised against all that would hold our worlds apart.

As common as pigeons, as lovely as doves,
the cottonwoods sentry the season.

Ask any tree you want
for any blessing freely given.

The wide catalpas and the tough old honey locust,
serviceberries in March and the crabapples in June,
Ask the trees to tell you how to make it through the
year.