Tree

Today, once again, the tree reaches so high. I try to dance in step with it, but stumble, lose my footing, get my posture wrong— and become a laughingstock. The tree I raised myself stabs me, and laughter bursts out of me. Who could ever know? I dance all the more fiercely. I soothe the trunk for no reason but my own. It is difficult to lean against it and rest, even briefly. I brush the soil away, carefully, and now I must be going—