the old tree is dying
its pockmarked trunk growing hollow
even as a third of its branches
continue to bear leaves, if not fruit.
but a red-bellied woodpecker lives in it.
a mourning dove throuple
spends a lot of time there too,
along with squirrels and raccoons,
the neighbor’s ginger cat who naps
in the fork. at night,
when the wind blows,
it makes demonic sounds,
moaning and creaking.
soon, that walnut will have to come down.
a strong wind could send it
crashing into the fence or the roof of our shed.
soon, the yard will have
a hole where the old giant once stood.
the night sounds will be gone,
but the day sounds will be, too.
soon, it will be just so many cords of wood,
strings of autumn nights
gathered round the fire pit,
flames like the memories
of untold sunrises and sunsets
of a woodpecker’s head
of a climbing ginger cat
of the bright glaze on candied nuts.
Lauren Scharhag is an award-winning author of fiction and poetry, and a senior editor at Gleam. Recent honors include the 2026 Stephen A. DiBiase Poetry Contest (3rd place), the 2025 Marrow Magazine Poetry Contest (honorable mention), a 2024 Rhysling Award (winner), and the 2024 Roadmap Short Story Competition Top 50. Her titles include nine poetry collections, the latest of which are A Food Court in Hell and Ain’t These Sorrows Sweet. She lives in Kansas City, MO. https://linktr.ee/laurenscharhag
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