2011 Issue - Santa Fe Community College

Refugees
by Tom Clayton
For years, a large fir tree stood in the back garden of my parent’s
house. It towered over the rest of the garden, casting shadowy fronds on
to the grass in summer, tense with the weight of snow in winter. Two
woodpigeons set up their home every year in its boughs.
One day in July last year, my parents decided the tree was getting
too big for the garden. It cracked under the surgeon’s saw. And when it
finally rustled to the ground, they saw that the back of the tree was dead,
a mere collection of sticks, a gnarled basket of firewood. It had been this
way for years. The porcupine spines shed dust into the lawn, and that
dusty stain was all that remained when it was taken away to be burned. I
came home from university to find a desert where my dens had been.
Now the two woodpigeons come and peck around the tree stump,
heads bobbing confusedly in the leaves.
And I sit in my childhood bedroom, trying to roost once more.
114 Santa Fe Literary Review