Demanding My Attention

by Jim Tilley

One is clad in a full-length dress,
leaving everything to the imagination,

the other in a sheer negligée,
mesh with a fine-toothed, red-leaf pattern.

I’m talking about the two Japanese
maple shrubs on my property,

the delicate leaves dense on one,
concealing her trunk and branches,

sparse on the other, her limbs spiraling
upwards like the arms of a figure skater

locked in a spin. She almost died
last year, parched from overexposure

to the withering sun. Thought I’d
lost her, but she rebounded this spring.

Now, I take care to quench her thirst,
yet only to the extent that she does not

grow to become the other, easier to keep,
but not demanding my attention.