To the Tree at the Foot of our Hill

Do you remember me? It's been a long time. My cheeks aren't so rosy anymore, my thighs have grown, my eyes don't have that sparkle. On the way up the dirt path I could see through your tangled, brittle branches our old house perched on the snowy hill. You're sleeping now because it's cold out, you're not in your glory. But I remember you when you were green and pulsing. I remember sitting in your shade.
Do the kids who live here now use you as the safe spot in tag? Did they give you a name? Do they climb your branches, or carve drawings in your bark? Do they trade cards below your leaves? Do they take turns telling scary stories in this grass? Do they argue, yell and shout? Do they split their heads open on your trunk when they roll down the hill? Do they laugh, sing and dance? Did they forget all about little Anthony's sixth birthday?
I've come to see what secrets you hold for me, to brighten my grey adult skies, and make my clouds look like teddy bears or trains.
Twisted tree, I thought you looked funny as a child. Now you look ominous and foreboding to me, your curves like snakes, your branches like long, slender thorns. If I reached out and touched you, would you prick me, bite me, or would you be funny again?

dec 20