In childhood, I watched my mother hang a rope
And build with fresh, new, maternal hands
A swing for my sister and I to feel alive
From the tree where I tried to hang one again In Adolescence
In Adolescence, down came the “Emma tree,"
Planted the day I was born,
Its roots died before its time, diseased,
The sibling I looked up to
Retired to the vice that jailed my father,
A quarter as old as he was when he began to look his age,
If only to feel alive again,
Seeking dopamine that their family could never provide.
And my mother took up gardening,
Enjoying most the killing of the weeds.
I used to equate stars to dreams.
But they look too much like the spots on her hands, Today.
Today, a cherry tree blooms, ornamental before our home,
Ornamental as my father, who speaks truth
Only on his painkillers,
And says that he’s anguished in this life,
True as mother Nature’s calls, flagrant for the insemination of Spring.
But I fear she won’t live well enough to see the baby thrive.
So Tonight, I mourn a tree.
Dedicated to Ive Ben Noble and beautiful, smart Henkensiefken. Deemed dumb by a world that wanted something to blame.
Pt. 1/2, from a night of perverse sorrow.