In the backyard #2

It is another summer,
everything sweat and sweetness,
when you weren’t looking
the peach tree grew up.

Now, its branches arc lacquidiscally,
and burdened with full fuzzy peaches
they brush the tips of the grass
like fingers across skin after sex.

to be there,
to lay under the canopy,
to look up,
to rock my head slightly back and forth back and forth in the grass, to feel the prick of the grass,
to watch the sun blink

in and out
in and out
in and out.

But I can’t be there,
under the peach tree;
the peach tree isn’t ours anymore.
Strangers live here now and no one knows them.

Was it ever ours anyway?
What life was ever ours to own anyway?
Everything moves forward, doesn’t it;
we are all strangers in this body river

in and out
in and out
in and out.

I gave everything up to leave
to become someone else’s stranger,
but when I want to come home
and be known,
and sometimes, often,
I do, I do, I do,
when that happens
I will think of that peach tree and its canopy, and
the prickle of the grass on my scalp,
the sun trickling through leaves,
the tickle of the branches,

in and out
in and out
in and out.

Nothing is easy anymore, is it?

nothing is easy

edited january 13 2020

August 9, 2019 / writing / short