Tall Trees

My mother and I walked through a forest. 

Crunching leaves underfoot, giggling, 

Reveling in my smallness like a mouse  

Burrowing through a down quilt, 

I started to run, pulling at leaves, 

Flouting the quiet purpose of the trees. 

Tiring, I stopped at a ravine. 

Here, the chasm yawned, 

And I smelled rotten things, 

Forgotten things. I wheezed, 

Gazed upward, seeking 

The sky above the lofty canopy, 

Green and bright, like icing 

On a soft blue cake. 

Then I remembered my birthday, 

The dripping of candles, 

My grandfather’s wrinkles, 

And in a moment, 

I had lost my mother.