A Poem by Patrick G. Roland
The B Tree
Along a gravel road
near my family’s farm,
a crooked locust tree stood guard.
Its gnarled limbs shot out in every direction,
a ragged old man who had stopped
caring for his appearance.
Midway up its pockmarked trunk,
a knotted bulge jutted out, unapologetic.
A careless saw blade? A battle scar from disease?
Dad called it the B tree.
I assumed it was for the bulge,
a misshapen hive
that never held bees.
I never asked.
Years later, when the farm became mine,
a surveyor drove a yellow spike
deep into the old tree.
I protested, but he only shrugged.
“This is your boundary,” he said.
Where my family began,
broke off,
and began again.
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Patrick G. Roland is a writer and educator living with cystic fibrosis. He explores life’s experiences through poetry and storytelling, seeking to inspire others in the classroom and through writing. He lives near Pittsburgh with his wife, who is his thoughtful critic, and their two children, who are his muse.
First published in Trampoline: A Journal of Poetry, Issue #27.10 A (2025)