Shinus molle
- Shinus molle
The pepper tree looked like a child drew itwith a compass—wheel-round and green,not moss or hunter, jade or forest, tealor camouflage—a green describing nothingelse, defining more state of mind than hue.The man atop the hill concerned abouthis view came down the hill, as richpeople sometimes do. This was his due,he pointed out, according to the rulesthe neighborhood association (shadesof something sinister) prescribes for howto keep the peace when interests compete.I like the peace. I like competing, too.I like my pepper tree, the shape it carvedout of the blue. Admittedly, it rose abovethe meeting of our lot-lines, intruding onhis vision of a slice of somewhere hehas never gone, but only slightly. In lieuof all horizon—as if anyonecan take it in, in its entirety—he'd see a swath of bright, bright green,white flowers in the summer, rosy berriesin the fall—pardes, I think, alongsidesky, the empty infinite, the endlessnesshis property entitles him to.As for my lot, I'd like some privacy.I want the pepper tree—not him—to watchme rattle off my spells, concoct my brewand I'll admit to an old-school affection(beauty). Would he know it if he saw it?(Said Justice Stewart of obscenity.)The branches crash upon my ivy anda stump remains, pale revenant, a fewanemic limbs. I know the hired mendon't mean to give offense—I don't shake [End Page 59] my fist at them but at the ornamentaliron now revealed—if it were post orpicket would I mind as much? I amfenced in, fenced out, pissed off and stillthe chain-saw serenades me with its roarsand pauses, the hummingbirds displaced,distressed, their feverish flights to findanother home. I will not move, though myimpermanence is not in doubt. I readthe fragile branches give their water tothe leaves, allow themselves to hollow out,be snapped by coastal winds. Such sacrifice—would altruism move him? I want the manatop the hill to see the view he cravesis best when glimpsed—a happy accident—instead of present, on display, and sothere must be leaves and branches to see through.Frost's protean voice murmurs in my ear:"He moves in darkness as it seems to me."But all he knows is what he's bought.Tonight the darkness comes a little closerand he has bought the absence of a tree. [End Page 60]
Patty Seyburn has published three books of poems: Hilarity (Western Michigan University Press, 2009) won the Green Rose Prize given by New Issues Press; Mechanical Cluster (Ohio State University Press, 2002) won the 2002 Journal Prize; and Diasporadic (Helicon Nine Editions, 1998) won the 1997 Marianne Moore Poetry Prize and the American Library Association's Notable Book Award for 2000. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals including Paris Review, New England Review, Field, Slate, Crazyhorse, Cutbank, Quarterly West, Bellingham Review, Connecticut Review, Cimarron Review, Third Coast, and Western Humanities Review. Seyburn grew up in Detroit and earned a BS and MS in journalism from Northwestern University, an MFA in poetry from University of California, Irvine, and a PhD in poetry and literature from the University of Houston. She is an associate professor at California State University, Long Beach, and coeditor of POOL: A Journal of Poetry, based in Los Angeles. She lives with her husband, Eric Little, and their two children, Sydney and Will.
