Under The Rubber Tree

Under The Rubber Tree

Ode to the Ajijic Writers’ Group

rubber-tree

 

When I first came upon the rubber tree

I dared proclaim myself a poet,

Raising my personal bar,

Quivering through my scribbled verse

And jumping off the edge.

But you were there to catch me

With love to nurture my new life

As one of you, struggling

Under the rubber tree.

And as I sit under its great canopy

And listen to you who have lived greatly

As you speak stories drawn from deep

Within your rivers and your fires,

I am grateful to have found my way

To your company, to taste your tears

And live through your creative eyes

Under the rubber tree.

And the writers speak loudly and wisely

But the rubber tree is older than us all,

And its wide trunk has heard all the stories

And watched as the writers drink too much wine

And mutter among themselves, craning for wise words,

But the rubber tree is always silent

As it presides over these old expats

Who return to speak, and to listen,

And to finally speak their truth.

By Bill Frayer

Ojo Del Lago
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