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the arboristTyler Gillespie is the author of the poetry collections “Florida Man: Poems, Revisited” (Burrow Press) and “the nature machine!” (Autofocus) as well as the essay collection “The Thing about Florida: Exploring a Misunderstood State” (University Press of Florida). He teaches at Ringling College of Art and Design.
by Tyler GillespieI’m kind of like f*ck oak trees. Cut them
all down. I say between sips of chai tea.Because I’m dating again. Because a limb
fell on my grandmother’s roof before Irma.A man told us the storm would knock
down the diseased tree. Into her yard.
Or the neighbor’s. (Which scared her more).As a kid I climbed the top. Looked
over a field where oranges once grew.I loved that tree more than any other
but I knew what we had to do. Made
a decision. Called a “local arborist.”
Only took cash for chainsaw precision.Irma kissed our coast. Pulleyed branches
floated to earth. He finished & left.You know the rest. Were there with me,
smoking a cigarette from side of mouth.
We boarded windows. Stocked the pantry.We had weathered so many of these before.
I thought we’d always find our high ground.Together. Never thought our tree
would rot. That the wind would betoo much. But now I’m in a coffee shop.
Backtracking on my f*ck trees statement.Of course, I don’t hate trees. I’m not psycho.
Just a poet & see the danger of what could.
For National Poetry Month, Creative Loafing Tampa Bay asked poets to write about trees—any trees—and they responded.
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This article appears in Apr 18-24, 2024.