In July of 2021, during a stressful season in life and ministry, I came before the Mother Tree of Congo Square. Under this old oak some of my ancestors gathered to pray, and like them I sought for relief from the burdens that I carried. Four years later I returned to the Mother Tree with gratitude, and thanked the Lord for bringing my family and I to a new season. This poem of four verses, which represent the years until my prayer was fully answered, is an expression of gratitude. It also recalls the wisdom of Elders from my childhood that I continue to glean from.

Mother Tree

1. To the Mother Tree I came again in olden Congo Square
To pray as father/mother did with spirit made aware
Aware of things my Elders warned while I still naive
And prideful drunk on foolish dreams of youthful mind deceived

I hear their voices, “Listen Chile, yuh don know whuh’cha do,
Or where yuh go in dayz ahead or whuh’cha gonna do.
De past an present stranguh now you ain’t dry friend
An look, you ain’t acquaintance now an even ain’t begin”

And then I answer back, in dialects refined,
“What was for you is not for me in this a different time.”

2. The time for me is past I lay at roots Her feet
And beckon Her, the Mother Tree, intern them to the deep
Deep was the aching that my Elders sought to warn
The cup they knew, which touched my lips, of motley wine and thorns

“Wine of de world”, they say, lamenting from the taste
The taste I took, like them before, returning to that place
While not as days of yore, my time was much the same
But only difference dress and speech with punishment for names

The slurs for them now banned, but burned upon the heart
For those against us close their lips to shout the names import

3. My future perched above, unharmed upon Her branch
It chirps that light upon the leaves with messages attached
Attached and bound to strength that carried me thus far
And wafted me on noble winds to gaze upon our star

“Let not de tings dat were”, my Elders gently say,
“Be obstacle to tings dat are, an put yuh off de way.”
This path is all we have without a fork or turn
No more for us than straight ahead to blessings we have yearned

Her branches bear me gifts and bid me lift my voice
To meet with Hers that fall below in leaves that now rejoice

4. I touch the bark and say, “Your son is now back home,
Like all your children here and gone across the ages roam.”
Roam and return I have to offer Her my thanks
But not a praise for saving me, for this was not her place.

Thank Her for silent ear, I did, and staying there
While living still to welcome me with spirit made aware
More than an aged oak where those before me prayed
The Mother Tree for those to come, long after me someday.

The images featured in this post are by Scotty J. Williams.

This poem is © Scotty J. Williams