The Names of the Trees
Laura Kasischke
I passed this place once long ago
when a man lived here with his four
daughters, peacefully, it seemed. Those
daughters took turns washing
dishes, doing laundry. Frothy pearls1 and
feathers in a sink. Soft
socks, warm towels, folded, clean, in
closets, drawers, and baskets, and
on shelves. To me
this was astonishing. The laundry
done by daughters! No
mother in the house at all. A weeping
willow2 grew in their back-
yard, but it was not a symbol then.
It could not have been
because this was the only tree
I knew th
