I fill my rucksack with pine cones & acorns,
stuff closets with branches & boughs—
sap so sticky, so golden under the sun—
collect stacks o’ grass in pillow cases—
tickling my nose with sweet dirt-filled fragrance.
They try to stop me.
They say I’m crazy.
What’s wrong with crazies?
What, are they Nazis?
‘Cause I know they’ll take it all ‘way someday—
the sky & the clouds & the rain,
the moon & the stars & the sun,
the blooms, the bushes, & the dirt,
the trees & their fall-fallen leaves,
the bees, their precious honey, & their wicked hives,
the wind & the rain & the snow,
So I squeeze it ‘tween my shoulders,
huff it up my nostrils,
like one deserted in a desert, just coming into contact with water for the 1st time,
‘fore someone warned her that huffing water is bad for one’s nostrils.
You can’t have it back!
Just give me a few mo’ minutes with them!
You always say you’ll give them back later—
but I know you plan to destroy me ‘fore that comes.
You always plan to destroy me ‘fore summer comes ‘gain,
& I always barely miss destruction.
But I know this time won’t go so well.
This time’s different.
You’ve got me just where you want me.
I’ll miss you, sweetie.
(Kisses oak branch.)