TREEHOUSE

 

I want to know if I belong

inside the darkness

of this hollow trunk

echoing with questions.

 

I am set in some ways—

rooted, with scarred bark and

exploding foliage; violent-

minded too, like a racoon

cornered halfway down, her kits

in a row behind her.

 

But I feel more like cabin than tree

built with countless human hands.

My wild inner dweller is still here

and she often wants me

out of the way. She’s moved in

between my planks, nesting

 

and defecating and giving birth.

Thumping and scampering

they sound to me like a family

happy to have found a home.