Affinity for Black Walnut

When I say Black Walnut, I mean poison
to nightshades: eggplants, tomatoes, peppers.
To Belladonna and Jimson Weed
(also known by angel’s trumpet, thorn apple, devil’s snare).
Their own sort of poison: atropa.
An herbal tea from the roots, the seeds, the leaves: vivid
hallucinations. Deadly deadly, the ER nurse says.
Now you see clearly, the herbalist says,

When I say Black Walnut and poison,
I mean juglone in its fruit, leaves, and branches
excreted from the roots to the soil.
Juglone—purposeful—
limits the tree’s competition.

When I call on Black Walnut
I mean a close grain, easily worked.
Rich-brown heartwood
resistant to decay.
Put to use: fence posts, poles, shingles, and sills.
I mean valuable: Walnut rustlers
thieve entire trees in the night.

I mean a tree that grows where its planted.
When surrounded, crowns straight to the heavens,
few, if any, lower branches.

When in the open it canopies,
drapes closer to its own roots,
Uncomplicating harvest of the fruit.

When I hold the sound harvest
in the hull of my cheeks, I savor
sweet, earthy nutmeat worth any effort.
When I say Black Walnut, I mean good with apple.

When I say harvest, I mean stain
our hands or anything they touch.
If the nut’s too hard, wait, it softens.
To remove the husk, we step gently
with an old pair of shoes.

When I say Black Walnut, I say act
done for the next-next generation. I say patience.