This Oak - Robert Okaji

Never rooted in Tibet,

has not watched a whale breach

a November Pacific dusk, or guzzled

bitter beer near Vesuvius. Nor has it

absorbed the warmth of a loved one's

hip on a frozen morning long after

the embers' glow has greyed

and the windows blossomed

white. It cannot know the beauty

of disparate instruments playing

in joyous harmony. It will whisper

no incantations, does not smile,

won't ever feel the anticipation

of a first kiss after a complicated

courtship. The bouquets of Bordeaux

elude it, as do tears or the benefits

of laughter. Why, then, do I envy it so?

Previously Published by Slippery Elm, May 2019

Robert Okaji was recently diagnosed with late stage metastatic lung cancer, and lives, for the time being, in Indiana with his wife, stepson, and cat. His full length collection, Our Loveliest Bruises will be published by 3: A Taos Press sometime in the near future (not posthumously, he hopes). His poetry may also be found in Threepenny Review, Only Poems, Vox Populi, Evergreen Review, North Dakota Quarterly, The Big Windows Review, The Night Heron Barks, Indianapolis Review, and other venues.