i miss the feel of wet grass,
slightly warm on the nights
when your sister was bored
(chalk dust on her brand-new shirt.)
did you feel bad when she told you off
did you feel bad when I stayed away
the night was left standing
and the tree waited, almost longing
for us to come back: rejoin :
and be something alive again
we made the tree our own,
it became a companion.
my mother never liked that.
but the moon whispered
we did good.
months passed, perhaps years,
I wrestled my fear
that the tree would wither
and eventually die.
(it did)
