A Few Dead Branches

Walking the trail,

tuned to the murmurs of the trees,

I’m pulled toward the one that knows me best.

As I move closer,

the clearings that open

are the ones in my mind.

Room to breathe, to grow.

Room to be, to know.

We play a game.

I count her rings,

and she counts mine.

Our laughter rings like windchimes.

Looking up I see them,

dead branches among the leafy ones,

skeletons of the past.

I nod with understanding.

I have dead branches too,

lifted high, reaching for forgiveness,

for the times I was mistaken.

Relaxing into the ease of our togetherness,

my friend and I play another game.

We each carve a heart into the bark of the other.

DOROTHY BURY SHAW

© 2021