By Ruth Knox, 12, Essex Junction, VT
It's everyone's and also mine,
chipping bark and a hanging branch,
amber leaves that drift to the weeded ground,
a forgotten sweatshirt sits at the trunk
limbs tired from climbs,
from gloved hands grabbing at the too-weak twigs,
from kicking at the trunk
and leaves pulled off by bored fingertips.
It's everyone's and also mine
because I am not the only one who sat on the larger branches,
who flicked off small, tired ants
and picked off the red berries.
I wish I could hear its stories,
hear it tell stories from the other kids
who call it their own.
I could listen for hours.
It aged with me
from picking up their older sister
to finally sitting at its base
while waiting for the car to come.
It's everyone's and also mine
because everyone called it their own
but it's still special.[Art opposite page: By Caris Gaito, 12, Burlington, VT – A Place to Escape]
It's everyone's and also mine,
chipping bark and a hanging branch,
amber leaves that drift to the weeded ground,
a forgotten sweatshirt sits at the trunk
limbs tired from climbs,
from gloved hands grabbing at the too-weak twigs,
from kicking at the trunk
and leaves pulled off by bored fingertips.
It's everyone's and also mine
because I am not the only one who sat on the larger branches,
who flicked off small, tired ants
and picked off the red berries.
I wish I could hear its stories,
hear it tell stories from the other kids
who call it their own.
I could listen for hours.
It aged with me
from picking up their older sister
to finally sitting at its base
while waiting for the car to come.
It's everyone's and also mine
because everyone called it their own
but it's still special.[Art opposite page: By Caris Gaito, 12, Burlington, VT – A Place to Escape]
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