Read Poem: Trees From Childhood, by Belinda Subraman

I hold on to innocence
the light
before the darkness
of damage lingers.

I played house with rusty tin can lids
as plates picked from garbage
dumped in the woods.
(It was more the norm than exception
in pre-Earth Day awareness.)

The “standing people” in the forest
were my friends
with arms for swings and climbing,
scent of pine needles and
sticky residue gifted from
the easiest trees to climb.
Delicate golf ball size seeds
were pretend eggs.
Acorns were pickles
or whatever the menu required that day.

I would serve imaginary people.
It was lonely but they didn’t complain.