Workmen came to cut back the branches today
severing limbs shaking loose leaves dead heads of what
were sweet white flowers.
I watched them a while before it became too sad.
I had watched grow all year the leaves
I had anticipated through winter into spring.
Returning to my windows ledge,
the workmen had left.
What remained of them, my companions my friends
was skeletal jutting and awkward
no longer rich bountiful rolling over.
Left staring at the devastation,
a little emptier than I started out that morning
I long to be straight forward.
No twists no turns no double backs.
When you look up, is it as bad as you’d imagined. Is it rotten and tiresome, is the sight of a shiny newly hatched conker on the walk to work the only joy you’ve felt this whole day. If it is, I reach out to you sister, brother for I am here too. I’d like to find my way onwards a gentle shifting forwards, you too, good. Perhaps we could walk together or at least try together. Hold my hand so we feel each others steady warmth a reassuring slow burning fire, the fire that tells us we’re still here and that it’s better, perhaps, to push forward together though our paths may diverge we still connect, we stay connected fire to fire.