Family Treehouse


As I sat, hugging
in shorts,
and naked legs
straddling his neck,
my arms blinding
him tightly
and him
grimacing a smile,

with me, big,
up there,
a growth spurt having
shot me to happyland,
and him,
the green shoot of it-
he could easily have been
a wiry, winter tree.

But what I see,
and see sadly
now,
is the evergreenery
of that young joy,
and me,
the child,
as the branch he fell from.

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