Ghosts?

 Lance and Michelle have mentioned ghosts in this blog.  Here's a ghost story, sort of.

Orono Maple

There's a maple in the backyard in Orono

where my 7-year-old sometimes sits, head down

hugging her knees, raining bitter tears on gnarled roots.

In the spring I drilled a hole in the trunk of that old tree

even went to the trouble to say I was sorry

but I didn't stop the bleeding, instead

I rejoiced in the slowly filling buckets of

clear sweet sparkling sap born of rain and tears

boiled on the wood stove to a frothing golden syrup

the whole house warmed and sweetened.

The tree didn't seem to be unhappy then

but it's summer now and I'm not so sure

as rain hisses through the big green leaves

near the open window where I sleep.

Is this a warning or just a haunting refrain

meant for sleeping ghosts in the old house?

Flailing branches pound on the screen,

are they lashing out at me in anger?

Could be, still I love that ancient maple in Maine

watered by my young daughters sweet tears.

Haha, that's it.