My life lived on branches 

in that pine 

on Cambridge,

now torn down

with the willows in the backyard - 

the one that hid my angst,

my tantrums,

my fear. 

And you listened that day. 

I didn't get the haircut

I didn't want.

And I wore that blue sweater 

in July. 

And I grew taller 

climbing down 

my tender childhood.

And like leaves 

blowing 

in October winds,

my hair ribbons loosened 

and fell. 

With each one 

a memory 

gone,

replaced with 

responsibility. 

And I was gone -

to be you. ...

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