tree story #1: Views #1
Always I wanted windows:
a way out of the dove greys and wines
into the scarlets and umbers of the fall leaves
or the sparrow-winged spring
slicing skies of Michigan blue.
You gave me a crimson umbrella once
like one you had wept to own when you were a child,
never understanding why I was not ecstatic
to have realized your dream.
Instead, hiding in the shadows of the sculpted carpet,
I longed to ride the wind-spattered rain
drumming its secrets against the window.
Nose pressed to glass, I
traced the gnarled black branchings of our family tree
generations of hollow women
bent with fruiting emptiness.
Still you peddle guilt like the umbrella vendor
and I barter six rain soaked panes
against the unbroken wall of your bitterness.
Created by Susan Hennies
