To Accomidate For The Brillance of Man

I will tell you your story from my point of view. Though there were several decades in there where I missed it all and a few where I chose to. I will tell you your story, though you may not recognize it now through all the history books and blackboards. I will tell you your story though perhaps you have already seen it a better way ‘round. Way up there with all the wreckage and stars.
I found you when I was walking in the monsoon and stubbed my toe on your feet and gathered the courage to climb your branches. When I was young I climbed (and didn’t mind the callouses on my feet) to your hear your leaves shake and talk and shake back again when my face was close enough. I would watch your great trunk tremble and tell of all the bodies bent beneath you. lovers. hippies. the romans to hide their swords. and marys rounded bastard belly . Later, maybe because my mom was tired of my bruised knees or because we were running out of Band-Aids. My father climbed high into your branches holding boards and a rusty hammer and into your arms laid a room for us. and I would climb and read you where the wild things are and a wrinkle in time. fight battles from your boughs. And on Sundays I would sit to watch you talk to the sky. The way we would if we could hear its language. But then I started having to wear stockings and go somewhere else to learn things. and I gathered philosophy and politics and so many words in my arms I no room for holding your branches. now I am sorry it took me so long to unfold the map that led back to you. and am glad you didn’t mind the wait and said you didn’t understand time anyway, that yesterday you watched as the world was made.



*photograph by neek nick, books