two poems

Spinelessness as an excuse for not saying sorry

The birch tree peeled and crackled like old paint
the grass swayed ever so slightly in the deep breeze
the sun beat down like a hammer on a stubborn nail
I became a stubborn nail floating on a piece of rotting wood in a mossy swamp; alone
a lazy dragonfly buzzed past my hazy eyes
I sat motionless, the sun still hammering away my very core
I wanted to push myself up
to run to your door
to let my apologies spill and scatter like marbles at your feet
but nothing would change, in the end.
I would probably just trip and slide on the marbles
my own apologies rolling under my feet.
my view shifted to blue sky as I fell back
I spread out my arms in the tender grass, so tender and soft
that I hated it for not being rocky and uncomfortable on my spine
I felt the earth beneath me opening, but did not move to escape the oncoming darkness
It swallowed me with clumping mounds and roots and worms
it spat me out at your door but I did not
let myself spill my marble apologies at your feet
I did not.

regret feels just like a sunburn sometimes.

The view from five foot, eleven inches tall

Walking outside, I notice how much closer
I am to the big branch I used to climb when I was young
how much easier it would be for me to grab that birch branch
to pull myself up, and to sit on my perch, looking down at the world
I am taller, but I am not changed. I have not progressed.
when I look at this peeling birch tree, I still feel like a
wild-eyed nine-year-old girl, filled with wonder and excitement
thinking this branch could make me feel the sky
run my fingers through the clouds; touch God’s fingertips with mine

I look around at the yard that used to look as big
as the world
I am taller, but I am the same
this tree shows me that though my body has grown
my wonder and excitement at this big, wide world
is the same
and will be the same
trees are the kinds of things that keep you grounded;
help you remain who you were