Superstar

Planting a tree is an act of rebellion.
The dirt nestling under your nails 
is the color of well worn boots.
It whispers into the ear
of an eleven year old girl 
fifty years from now,
promises her something worth
climbing at dusk. It implies that 
she will be here, the tree will be here,
and that this superstar of a moon will still
dance in the smear of a night sky. ​