I would always want us to play underneath the oak tree;
it was the only one with mistletoe,
and even at age five, somehow, I could only think of
kissing when you would come over

most of the time I only had imagination to play with,
the tree becoming my only friend

we would pretend that tree was a monster,
throwing rocks and sticks;

I could almost hear the branches crying for us to stop
but you thought it was the best way to play,
so I ignored their begging

when you left,
I would hug the tree
and swear it wouldn’t happen again
(it always did)

I remember playing in the dirt in my driveway
a little too close to the road

I would make puddles
and pretend they were pools for my barbies,
getting the mud all over them

one day a car came flying down the road
flipping upside down into our mailbox
five feet in front of me;

I could hear screaming
and it took a few seconds to realize it was two different voices
- Mother’s and the woman dying in the car

I didn’t cry,
I just stared in front of me
afraid to turn around

I had been too close to the road
and Mother would have been more furious
if she hadn’t been trying to save the life of a stranger

sometimes I think I’m still sitting in the driveway,
staring at nothing,
and I don’t think I ever went back inside.

02/08/2009

Posted on 02/08/2009
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