Trees (#22 Na/GloPoWriMo)

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At 4 years old, I grabbed my mother’s
Breasts.
Gasp, shock, knocked my
Hands away.

If she’d asked, “What are you doing?”
I could have explained that
I was trying to draw a picture.
Of her.

I decided that I only needed to
Touch the shape.
Then I could draw the
Shape.

I remember that crystal moment,
Amber suspension,
Not only embarrassed,
But trying to make sense of art.

Everyday I want to write a poem about
Trees.
I want to explain how the bark feels in my
Hands.

I want people to smell vanilla,
Or today is it butterscotch? Wafting
From sun-warmed Ponderosa
Pines.

Why, what did you see when I said tree?

7 Replies to “Trees (#22 Na/GloPoWriMo)”

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