Magnolia's Treehouse

Maggie

The tree bent her arms
in order to caress
the child in her house
in a state of distress
Wind whistled through the branches
calling soothing tones,
urging the boy to realize
he was not alone
Grandfather built the estate
But he'd fallen in the ground
Confused and resentful
The boy's spirits were downed
Distorted in his pondering
The boy bowed his head,
inquiring a silent figure,
"Do we find peace when we are dead?"

When her green started to deepen,
towards the sun her arms stretched,
Down came the young man
With a knife he brought to etch
His shoulders were broad,
dark shadow masked his brow;
there was no innocence
left to him now
She looked at her friend
and straightened her spine
allowing him to cut
deeper every line 
Curious as to his mourning
never ceasing since they died,
she asked, "How do you feel?"
and he carved 'terrified'.


Months brought chills to her innards;
there was no warmth from home
When the snow crested the hilltops
again the young man came to roam
This time he brought a twisted weapon
clutched with shaking fingers
When he'd risen upon her shoulders
she begged for him to linger
She flung twigs about him
and all of her arms she curved;
She knew her protests were futile
With every swing he swerved
He rested upon the tallest branch
from there he hung his noose
For a moment he did rest
compelling his nerves to be loose
There was no figure to call his Father;
of peace, he was on the brink
Blessed assurance to know he'd
no longer care what people think
But when the rope hooked his neck
and he sang one last goodbye,
He realized with a grieving heart
he wasn't allowed to die.
Desperation tore his being,
"What will you make of me?!"
And in defeat, he removed the leash,
deserting the magnolia tree.

By the time her knuckles began to gnarl,
the man made his return
This occasion he brought his lover
And the affections he had earned
As the two birds corresponded,
there was tranquility
Knowing he had found a love
And formed stability
Willingly, she gave her wood,
bittersweet feelings igniting,
a heart inside her skin,
initials from their handwriting.

Embarrassed by her browning leaves,
she let them fall away,
Remaining stout as the man
built a house where his kids would stay
They huddled in her branches
He laid content in her shade
The Spirit Wind had found them all
through It their purpose was made.


The rings on her trunk were vast
when the old man came to speak
Unable to climb upon her chest,
through age he'd became weak
When she finally bowed to gravity
and breath from him did cease
With the last bit of life, she asked the old man,
"How do you feel?"
And he replied,
"At peace."

...

Written in 2015/2016 and edited in 2020, this is my favorite piece I've ever written.