Poetry Feelings

thirty-three

her love spread out like branches,
reaching upwards to the sky,
giving shade throughout the summer,
and a place to keep you dry,
so all the city's children,
built a tree house round her spine,
and though they never asked her,
she still told them she was fine,
they etched their names with knives,
along the edges of her bone,
a handwritten reminder,
she was always theirs to own,
despite the pain they brought her,
upwards she still grew,
thinking if you love someone,
it's the least that you can do,
but as the kids turned into adults,
and the winter air grew cold,
she wept sap from their carvings,
for they weighed too much to hold,
and the men all thought her branches,
were to help their fires start,
and without a single, "thank you",
put a chainsaw through her heart.