My Crab Apple Tree
ASHLEY ALLEN
I live there, up over the hill, Embraced by the white pines and the hard maples, Our Lincoln Log house carefully constructed by CAD software My parents learned in their drafting classes. When I was young, I assembled the foundation for the rocky porch That massages your feet as you walk. I look up at the porch posts and wonder: Why is there a metal cross where the beams intersect? Is this a sign that my home is the savior I turn to when I run from his con But he will never know why I chose to come home Rather than staying in town. I walk down the hill to my crab apple tree. The pink petals get caught in the wind and dance Like the time AC/DC was blaring from his phone And we had a prom date with alcohol. I slouch against the soft bark and I let my head fall between my knees. The good memories become horrible nightmares. Our evenings together turned into me serving him glasses of water. Friends forgot that I existed because he was more important than them. My crab apple, you never fail to catch a tear As I sit here, pondering, praying That he gets tired and leaves me. Oh bitter balloon, we are alike; Beautiful and elegant in a gentle gale, But bitter and cracked when tornado winds hit. Each spring, I am reminded of your beauty and your strength. To Hell with this boy! He will never know how I collect your petals and create Exquisite pressed art between my favorite pages. You might be home to the birds and the bees, But you are mine too.