To my boy’s eye the cypress could outreach the sky
but it barely stood seven foot tall. I was ten
the time you chose to jack and abandon us all
when we listened so hard for your taking leave song
I was ten. All that we had was all we
could sell. I was ten then. It would be ten
years more before the first faint flurries of hope the
first new shoots of forgiveness could take root unseen under
the green tree line. Now nothing towers over me anymore.
Me I was ten then. Nothing small remains small forever.