Today they came and got the tree from the front yard of our new house. Somebody said it had contracted mistletoe, that it was dead before I got here.
Before I entered its shade, its protection, the soul of the thing was gone.
I feel like I’ve been quietly set adrift again. My anchor’s been pulled without my permission, instead a johnny-come-lately notice and someone says its grace that I had any advance warning at all.
I wonder about that, as I prepare to do to my children what was done to me. Do I say goodbye before I before I go? Do I just quietly, pull back my branches slow…?
Whisper last “I love you’s” in a language only I speak
Flat, unwelcoming, don’t say it back “I love you’s”
Do I go out misunderstood
Let my name be an unsolved mystery re-hashed at future reunions where I won’t be invited because I left no room to be reached out to…
Do I bury my body in the void and let my spirit disappear from memory?
But, even then, won’t I find myself like the tree? Carried off almost entirely, but learning my loss with time…?
The stump still sits out front.
The tree with all of its unfallen branches, yet unpeeled bark, couldn’t have predicted its own last breath. What heartbreak to find yourself suddenly severed from your roots! To grapple with the finality of distance from the grass you didn’t say “good bye” to…
I feel like a bush that knows it’s about to be moved– all my sprigs still soft and green.
I war within myself whether or not to warn them– let them quit themselves early into the adults they will someday be.
via Daily Prompt: Branch