I Look at Trees
I
I look at trees and think about their births.
I can say to myself by looking at a leaf,
“You are an oak,”
or, “You are a Chinese pistache.”
For this I feel proud,
And this quirk is one that gives me a sense of joy,
And the trees appreciate this; they listen.
II
I like to wear socks, and have special categories of them:
The ones that have had their life
But I will still wear them
(on days I think I will get dirty out in the yard);
Then I have the ones who are new from this year
and have the thickest, whitest cotton and I think –
I love you white soft socks. My feet love you.
III
I wash my hands a hundred times a day,
And I wonder every time I wash my hands: Was there ever a time I didn’t do this?
IV
I don’t like it when people drive fast in neighborhoods:
Watch out for squirrels in the roads
– and birds –
And what if a cat or dog runs out?
Be careful!
V
I go to bed clean – a bath every night.
I go to bed alone – every night.
I could be your best friend.
I could make you dinner.
We could play a game.
VI
I realize now, I will die an old woman,
Alone in my socks,
Lonely, thinking about the trees – admiring them, loving them.
I will be surrounded by the love of my cats.
I will have on a great pair of socks.
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