One sip of tea:
ginger-mint.
Three hangnails.
Two hours.
I love this tree,
the place I come
for quiet, for bark
against my cheek and under-
standing. Somewhere
on its way to sky
all my thinking
broken bridges dirt bikes sand candle mothers day
filters through boughs
and is made green.
Everyday my body hurts
elbows earlobes hips and jaw
head and chest fingertips shoulders
in new spots, half a dozen
bowling balls shift
into place inside me,
my body draws a breath,
expands,
inches over seconds.
I am so big.
Not a shred
of girlish pout or chub.
The hangnails, scabs
and strands of hair my body
throws away makes food
for bugs by the bottom
of the tree, and I rescue
what's left of this kid
by hauling her up
into branches,
perched like a bird in a broken nest.
Illustration by Lydia Podobnik
Read by Jill Boettger
