The metaphor works its way through time in Wanda Campbell's poem "Family Tree" from Haw [Thorn]

my father's family is as clear

as the sap his father

squeezed from the trees

each sweet spring

his mother only four

at her mother's sickroom door

kids farmed out after the funeral

like maple keys in the wind

Squeezing a living; the living squeezed.

And so for day 150