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The Tree-Climber
by Ken HarnischShe climbed out onto the bough
And I held my breath
Torn between letting her
Be independent, as she wished
Or watching her fall,
So she could never be.
There had been a soft rain in the morning
I saw the green grass pearl
Below the tree and the roots
That were black and double –humped
Like the hideous fingers
Of giants buried deep
Within the earth
Reaching out to call her home.
My call was her name
In whispers
Swallowing my fear
Lest she get angry
I had shown it so boldly
And torn from her the courage
She needed to climb
Watch this, she shouted
In ultimate joy
And I, who felt only
That shudder that
Comes with certain premonition
Pretended to see, but I closed my eyes
And pretended, too,
I did not see her fly from the
Branch, or meet her fate
On mud which
Softened her fall
And kept her with us
But only as a shadow
She no longer has the urge to climb
And I no longer the heart
To let her
And we stir our morning coffee
In mutual distrust
And speak of benign things
Like the weather
But never, ever, the tree.
04/19/2009 Posted on 04/19/2009
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/19/09 at 01:07 PM I love that ending and the way you really do capture that atmosphere of "mutual distrust" at the end. Great stuff. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 04/19/09 at 07:51 PM Great write Ken. The kids where I grew as a child were always in this one tree across from the corner on which I lived. I only recall one person a girl who fell out and broke both wrisits, och. From 6 to 10 we probably spent the better part of the summer in that tree. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/24/09 at 01:38 PM Talk about learning things the hard way. Excellent story telling...with a lesson for all Ken. The only trees I used to climb in my childhood were apple trees. Lots of branches and not too tall, with a delicious reward on every branch; just don't eat the apples with holes in them. ;o) |
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