The Story of the Palm Tree

by valentinestavrou


on a midsummer’s evening
she stretched her evergreen leaves
over the land she had been planted
feeling her roots tangling
as they dug into the soil
stumbling over little treasures;
shells and fossils and olives’ kernels-
silent tales of lives past.

she fed them with rain’s drops and care.

through seasons changing,
she’d gathered the history she’d witnessed wash ashore,
for everything came by sea
in boats of wood and heavy iron.
she’d kept some pieces folded in her stem;
the Ç she had taken by a green-eyed lady
the kay came out of the mouth of a freckled baby
and the ομικρον belonged to a language no-one spoke no more

just as she was admiring her jewels,
a breeze shuffled them around
giving birth to a word
whose sound
filled the air with hope :


as tiny
as vibrant
as diverse
as the ground these letters walk on

there’s no doubt;
a very word of their own