A twig from an ancient tree

was planted in this valley

ninety-years and a day ago

with grandparents' post-migration arrival

propagated with a labor of love

and dream songs which sprouted

roots rich with indigenous sacred

hope and over decades this twig

branched-out into an ancestral tree lush

with a heritage of scattered leaves

some have prevailed on the railroads

farmfields and overseas warriors in battlefields

some have crooned and swooned on saddles of assimilation

not total though to gain an education

some have hummed commitments to heaven

in humble jubilation some have whistled

weary in whirlwinds on life’s meager means

some have not forsaken chanting enchanted

traditional ancient cosmic

conscious themes and now

in this soul-deadening out of balance

Y2K millennium infancy I reflect

in the autumn years of my being

standing somber in the shade of our tree;

what will become of it and me?

For the tree expands into five generations

perpetuating a pristine perpetual dream

in this valley reality like enormous

hawk wings encapsulating us with

a shade of simplicity celebrated in

a social status of invisibility and I

native son shy of eloquence

irrigate the tree with common words

to nourish-in nutrients of this life force

flowing in crimson canals of flesh

in the fertile soil of San Joaquin

in the plants and critters

in the rivers and pulses of little towns

being shredded for progress and malls

in the decades deciphered from a million

memories fertilized for posterity prestige

and dignity of the tree

and landscape and panorama

of our souls.