Banyan trees

Thoughts | Abby Reagen

Graphic by Siyuan Shen

Banyan trees

I’m sitting in a lecture hall

Surrounded by maple trees

That are unfamiliar to me,

Wild skunks roam streets 

That I’ve scarcely seen,

The sky bleeds grey in a way

I have never beheld.

On the stage, the lecturer speaks

Of his trip to the tropics,

And on the screen,

Is a picture of a banyan tree.

In that moment, I am no longer

A scared eighteen-year-old

Sitting in a Canadian lecture hall;

I am six and walking to 

My first day of kindergarten

In the company of iguanas and

Under the shade of a banyan.

I am eight in a classroom after school,

Staring out the window and wishing

To climb up the vines in front of me,

Daydreaming of the autumn breeze.

I am ten and twelve and fourteen,

Staring at the face of a new world

Through life’s pupils,

Reflecting the banyan trees, 

Staring back at me.

I am batting away the gnats 

That clog the muddy path.

I am sixteen, running through forests

Hearing tales about the leaves and the bugs

And the roots.

We chase lizards in the muggy grass.

I am eighteen, packing to leave,

On a walk with cocoplum shrubbery,

Looking out at the clear sea,

Catching crabs in the shallows,

Basking in the moon’s glow,

Swinging in the branches of the

Nearest waiting banyan.

I am sitting in this class,

No longer paying attention,

Staring at a static picture

Of a tree, 

Staring back at me.