I wish I’d found this tree when I was eight.
Before the veil separated me completely.
When all access to the other world meant I could slip my skin,
And live any story.
I weep for what I would have made.
The lost hours of childhood,
well spent in the woods.
A branch broom would sweep the floor clean,
Rocks would border the path leading to the front door,
And elaborate food and mail delivery systems would be installed.
Creating a space,
For the countless characters who joined me in my solitude.
I remember vividly, the hope that I could stay forever.
Grown-ups didn’t seem to play.
We don’t.
I would be one to hang on.
I wasn’t.
I got lost,
Just not in the woods.
Do we really know by eight?
Is the rest of our life spent challenging,
Then trying to return, ,
To a truth installed on the other side?
Back when we were negative eight?
Who were you then?
How close are you now?
What will it take to return?
Go be eight.
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