Willow Tree

I climbed the willow tree,
the one my mother planted
long before my birth
Pressing my face against
a warm limb as
ribbons of summer sun
lay over me

Tiger-like my arms hung loose
caressed by wind-chimed breezes
Mother smiled up at me,
raising her pale hands

Billowing shadows
zebra-striped our faces
as I pawed in her direction,
at the scar beneath her thinning hair

The sun-dappled grass below
had captured her steps
which led to my father,
sitting alone with tears
in his eyes







2010 Til Turner