Plum Tree

When I was growing up
In my backyard
There was an old plum tree
Witness to the making of one house, many homes
And the day before my sisters seventh birthday
It died
And men came to take it out of the ground

When it was alive
There was a swing attached to the tree
That my sister and I would play on

And on the days that we did
You could see past the gate and over the wall
That separated my neighbors
From the river
Which only ran on the days that it rained

On the days it did not
It stayed a sunken trench
That cut a long line across the city

Like the line down the center of your palm