Adelle Benade Poet ABC

Greenhouse

I met you amid the branches
of an old, evergreen tree –
we were wary at first,
dangling like flushed and obscure fruits
from twisted limbs;
exchanging precious gifts
of blue-black berries and tentative smiles
until we gained the other's trust.
We clambered ever higher,
full of that clumsy grace
that comes with youth
and the thrill of a secret shared.
From atop the highest branch
we surveyed the kingdom we had conquered,
and swore to rule with fairness
this world of wood and wind.
Palms were scratched and roughened
where they lay, clasped together,
and the sunlight left dappled laughter lines
upon our upturned faces.
Our subjects were the fickle white-eyes,
darting overhead like leaves given flight,
chattering charming nonsense in our lordly ears.
Somewhere, adults laughed,
but we could not see them,
so we listened instead to the bees
who brought us tales of lands afar,
and our own laughter was lost
amidst the rustling of the leaves.
We wore crowns of purple flowers
in hair still wild and uncut,
and I showed you how to swing
with no hands
from each lichen-covered limb.
Later, we crouched hidden
among the roots of all we owned,
and listened as discarded names
grew closer on the breeze.
There was a brush –
clumsy, but not unwelcome –
of lips on dimpled cheek,
and the promise we would meet
a day, a week, a year from then,
amid the branches
of an old, evergreen tree.

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