Climbing Trees
July 13 2008


Trees belong to childhood.
They do not speak,
even when spoken to.
And like the child
standing there
rooted, powerless
always told what to do,
excluded from the adult world.
And like trees
growing imperceptibly;
then grown-up overnight, it seems.

So kids clamber up trees,
commiserating together.
They swing from branches
or tie ropes, and inner tubes,
and when the adults are distracted
climb to forbidden heights.

Which may seem odd,
because trees are so very old
— their twisted bark,
their hidden roots
penetrating deep into cold dark soil.
But how much different than kids and old folks,
who also feel powerless
and have plenty of time
and seem to understand each other well.

Most of all, I like their forbearance,
so silent, so still;
never objecting to kids
building tree forts,
scuffing their branches.
Or hanging upside down, full of laughter,
taunting the others
sticking-out their tongues.