Under the spreading of a java plum

I thought of her,
lying there,
under the spreading of a java plum.
Its warmth had my nano’s scent.
Slender branches resonated her arms.

She planted it as a young girl,
my mother once said.
It grew with her,
aging as the seasons passed.

I plucked a fruit;
staining my palm crimson
and tasted its bitter sweetness.

A picture flashed before my eyes.
A woman with a timeworn face
and tattered clothes
lulling a baby to sleep.

And I wondered,
how trees could be so mysterious.
Silently watching as
the years passed.
And with them, lives.

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