I Look at Trees

I I look at trees and think about their births. I can say to myself by looking at a leaf, “You are an oak,” or, “You are a Chinese pistache.” For this I feel proud, And this quirk is one that gives me a sense of joy, And the trees appreciate this; they listen. II I like to wear socks, and have special categories of them: The ones that have had their life But I will still wear them (on days I think I will get dirty out in the yard); Then I have the ones who are new from this year and have the thickest, whitest cotton and I think – I love you white soft socks. My feet love you. III I wash my hands a hundred times a day, And I wonder every time I wash my hands: Was there ever a time I didn’t do this? IV I don’t like it when people drive fast in neighborhoods: Watch out for squirrels in the roads – and birds – And what if a cat or dog runs out? Be careful! V I go to bed clean – a bath every night. I go to bed alone – every night. I could be your best friend. I could make you dinner. We could play a game. VI I realize now, I will die an old woman, Alone in my socks, Lonely, thinking about the trees – admiring them, loving them. I will be surrounded by the love of my cats. I will have on a great pair of socks.