My therapist said this week
I need to go outside and stop writing poetry for once.

So I went out to my backyard and looked at all the rotted juneberries that have fallen from the neighbors tree onto our concrete garden.
I stared at it for a while
Wondering how many bugs have crawled over it.
And if they knew that these berries would fall only in June.
If they get excited when they bring it to their families.
The thought was fleeting so
I sat on the ground and looked up at the neighbors house across from ours.

Mom told me that since she was little girl
He’d always look in.
Still does.
Plops a chair in the front of the window and just watches,
Not only us of course,
That would be like,
Weird I guess.

It got really hot after a while so
I got near our wilting butterfly tree
And dug a hole slowly thought the dirt
Until I got tired and decided to go inside
And give my neighbor a break of such a sight to see.

Snow looks like it's striped the world
Striped it down to the bones
And trees are knobbly fingers
Clawing towards the dreary sky