Tree House on A Hill


The tree house, slightly trembling in the evening’s sun, stood rapt;
I have Monday through Friday
Without my brother’s interference intact,
He has Saturday and Sunday
But nobody accepts that as a fact.

My mom has told me, dropping
A million times that as the doctor apt
To deliver me, the tree house was smiling.
But nobody accepts that as a fact.

When I was fourteen, the town bully blithe as the king bee
Heard me scuff “idiot at that signing table!” and shed
His wrath into banging my noodle-shaped front to the tree,
Until a big limb fell on his head.
But nobody accepts that as a fact.

I first found love under that tree
Sometimes we get involved without intent
And the moon gets caught into the branches of a centipede
But nobody accepts that as a fact.

The brotherhood of beauty had a lifeline to that tree.
And strangely, with inexpressible tenderness and delicacy
When the winter was hit with lightning and vocals of a banshee
My soul was diagnosed as myelopathy
And they buried our ashes together, finally free!
Everybody now accepts that as a fact!

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