I climb trees
In the midst of a summer afternoon.
No one follows me as I open
The door and step into the garden.
I wear green
And an odd sort of cap.
Mostly for style,
But to make what I do seem
Like an expedition or
I have this rope to get
Up a tree;
The pine that grows
Into the spaces of our leafy plot.
Spiders scuttle past my hands
As I reach out to touch
And hold the branches whilst
My feet make sure they can stand,
Before they move themselves onto
The higher branch or notch.
See my still form in the needles if you
Didn’t notice me begin to climb
At the base of the tree.
The father from the house
Next to mine does.
He waves and
Asks, “What are you doing
In your tree?”
To him, I call back,
“Trees cannot belong
Then I hesitate, but say
To him, “I am climbing.”
From my shrouded perch, I watch
Him attempt to control wild animals,
But thinks otherwise
When his sons continue their wretched howls.
High in gnarled boughs, I observe
Humanity in many noises and colours.
To myself, I close my eyes and wish:
To be alone.