This poem appears in the Fall 2020 issue of Modern Age. To subscribe, click here.

Their branches beckon like the arms
of ballerinas.
From May to October
their leaves brighten from burgundy
to orange to tan.
In the newsworthy
world of havoc and other
distractions, maples create
no headlines.
Although they’ve sieved
the wind through fifty years
of chosen wars where millions
died for nothing, they tell
no time except their own.

Here in the land of Oz where
total extinction is likely,
the maples offer no defense
but nonchalant irrelevance.