So I Wrote Some Poems, I Guess

Remembering The Old Tree Swing

We have known each other for a long time,

the years have treated you well.

I remember your less than secluded

hiding place,

you stood guard in front of my old home,

wearing the trees as robes as you held your

position by the old country road.

Time passed and yet you stood still.

The old wood that forms your person has been

subjected to fierce storms and the sweltering rays of sun,

you have endured snow and ice with grace.

I remember you,

the trees that cocooned your body,

the pine needles that placed themselves under you,

crunching underfoot.

I remember how you smelled after a good rainstorm,

that comforting aroma of damp wood and pine scented soil.

You always turned the most peculiar shade of green after

a heavy bout of rain;

not quite the shade of moss that clings to a boulder,

and not quite the cheerful glint of mint.

No, your green was more like the comforting shades

that one might find on a set of feathery ferns.

I remember the locusts that clung to your wooden robes.

Every summer they would dress the trees with their hollowed husks,

decorating your faithful guardians,

those massive trees that served as your protectors.

You and I spent many summers together, you

cradling my weight and the weight of my companions.

My great grandmother and I would often join you,

spending many humid evenings discussing life.

My father and I would join you,

idly bickering about the best fishing spot.

I remember the conversations you heard,

conversations with my family,

with God,

with myself.

Do you remember the pain I shared with you?

Have you forgotten the tears and fears of your young

and lonely companion?

I remember you, dear friend.

I have not forgotten.

There was a time,

many years ago,

when you were my only friend.

You and I were alone together,

and now we are alone apart.

I had my freedom with you,

if only for a little while.

When I was with you,

I was free to be completely and unapologetically

myself. I could let the tears flow free or

I could imagine myself as a bird,

my chirps the squeak of rusted metal chains

as you inched me closer the

vast expanse of mayan sky. A bold and beautiful sky,

so blue and perfect that one might never want to come down

to Earth again.

Please forgive me.

I feel I have abandoned you.

I remember you, dear friend.

Do you remember me?