Learning the Trees

I’m working on learning
the trees.

I mutter
catalogs of taxonomies
and common names
like my tongue could grow
whole orchards if given
the chance.

The pecan
I know by their leaves
and by these long
memories of Papaw
shelling on the porch.

Bois d’arc I know
by their gnarl
and great green fruit
that droops limbs
and drips milk into summer
breeze.

Loblolly pine
I define by their burst,
each needle-ball clamoring
for my attention.

And the oak? The oak
I can spot only
by its solid presence,
the way it seems to listen
more than it rustles,
like it knows exactly
what is meant
by “dependable.”