I thought nothing of living
in a tree house at the age
of fourteen which baffles me
(why did this come so naturally
not to wonder at my lack
of sturdy walls and a family?)
and anyway my favorite saint
hung out in the upper limbs
of trees, throwing rocks
at her suitors, mostly
old men, stooped and
earth bound
Her father had sent them
one after the other until
she finally shattered and
winter was coming anyway
time for her to scatter

As did I.
The breeze was killing
me.

No one sees fourteen
year olds who live in trees
I assure you, NO one.

We are legion, our invisible
army of doom, no wonder
so much comes naturally
to me, having been taught
to not see the worst of
atrocities, I am perfectly
able to not see too

I'm not that different
from you

If you've read your Charlie
Dickens you would see me
through the gloom, a bit
of an anachronism but
it will just have to do