This is probably dumb—but I
guess I kind of
like it
when the trees
on these
neighborhood
streets finish
filling in
toward the end
of May—
because of
the way
their brawny branches
grow and
swell and puff-
up and extend,
connecting
to put these
perfect headlocks
on the unsuspecting
roads underneath,
to hold and to keep
all the solitude in.
I like it because
it reminds me
of the special way
I feel like
I grow
and hold my
anger,
not deep inside
but somewhere near
the top
and surface of
my body—
a pride-
ful little mixture
of resentment
and excitement,
which is, now that I'm
thinking about it,
so long
and thin and delicate,
so precious,
that it just feels
brave!
to even dare persist in existing
despite all the
dangers
and exposure to ridicule, like
a skinny little
wimpy kid's
visibly fragile
spinal cord, or whatever
its called—or
yeah, like I kind
of mentioned
already, those stupid knobby branches.
