Alone.
Been morning for hours.
From gray to green goes the scent on the breeze.
Up here!
Scraped knee.
Wind-breaker
and book.
The tree we thought banana,
Ugly in winter or spring,
Holds me high.
Thick, pliant arms.
This tree.
Dried pods burn like needles in the sole.
My perfect.
"the scent on the breeze"
ReplyDelete"thick, pliant arms"
"My perfect."
Gosh.
Everything is safe and as it should be on this limb!
This place, the perfect place, is described as perfectly as any I've read. I love the fact that you could conjure up this gem from this little prompt. It is as large as the love of parent or a sibling with the personal space that envelopes and hold us tight enough to remember the things that only the one experiencing can appreciate. Loved this writing and thank you for playing.
ReplyDeleteYou pulled me back into childhood.. I would love to have a climbing tree again.. But I guess I could never climb it the way I once did,
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry, but the word 'banana' always makes me smile and think of minions these days... And suddenly the 'I' in the poem turned into a minion and the whole thing just made me laugh. For me, any poetry that evokes an emotional response is good poetry, and even though I probably didn't have the reaction you intended (and again, I'm sorry about that) this piece did elicit an emotional response. Before the minions got in the way I really enjoyed the line about how the scent of the breeze changes colour. That is inspirational!
ReplyDeleteSuch a feel good, comforting sort of poem. I used to read in a huge cherry tree. Sweet memories.
ReplyDeleteI does sound quite perfect to me.
ReplyDelete*It*
Deletesorry :-)
I love your unique phrasing and the role of the tree.
ReplyDeletecool ~
ReplyDelete