The Lunok Tree

a poem by Roger B Rueda

Its roots and branches rigorously pruned,
the lunok tree rests with beauty
in a clay pot filled with soil and some
stones, everyone filled with wonder
as they sit at table, waiting
for the director’s visitor to go,
its leaves like small balls of paper
and its bole, a roll of shredded tobacco.
Its yellow buds like lolly.
When the fan blows, it blows too
as if in the wind, the kalachuchi outside
growing to a height of several feet
reeking of loss but celebrating indulgence.