"Turning over the leaf" -- April 9, #NationalPoetryMonth
Turning over the leaf
You were not the least bit arrogant
as you floated down to my lap from the maple tree
branch some twenty feet above me.
Landing on my right leg,
you noticed me, and picking you up,
I noticed you, too, and examined
how delicate the ridge, like a spine, jutting
up your center and spreading with veins
to reach the edge of your existence.
You were still green. Your life seemed to still have something to say.
Turning you over, I saw your face,
and you were my father,
and you were blue. There was blood
on your chin
and you were naked. My hand over your mouth felt nothing.
I held you.
I turned you over again and saw how,
like all the other leaves still hanging in the maple tree above us both,
there was a spot where you were connected to life
but also some holes where worms or disease
had eaten through your protective skin.
Still, I could see the spot where the cocoon once hung,
and I held you closer, knowing that,
for whatever falsehoods and maladies may have happened,
you had given something else a chance to hang on, get ready, renew
and be reborn.
I could see that you had once been young. I could see
what you wanted to become.
You laid there naked, and I held you,
and nothing has ever been as blue.