A row of eucalyptus trees along Baseline Road
long before the 210 Freeway was there
on the way to Crestline, Apple Valley,
Las Vegas ¬— it was a windbreak
always shuddering as we drove by
in Pop’s pink 1959 Cadillac.
A magnolia in the front yard
of Grandma Alyce and Pop’s house
whose fat seed pods
we pretended were hand grenades,
whose glossy leaves I picked up off the dichondra
as Grandma Alyce forever pulled weeds
along the edge of Pop’s special front lawn.
A lone oak on the top of the hill
behind the open fields, behind the small fence
behind our cheap tract home on the cul-de-sac
in 1966 Southern California.