home_free tender_square so often it was a tree that was mutually agreed upon as home base in games of schoolyard tag. for safety to count, your fingers had to tickle the bark of birches, hickory, and oak; your hands had to remain touching the trunk for that unassailability to be recognized. years and my cilia are singed with the effort of flailing, of chasing circles, of darting from the one who tries to mark me as “it.” and in my sightline, the bronze maple i’d lost stands sturdy. my fingertips have long forgotten the memory of those deep-set ridges that shored up like sand. every muscle in this body drawing deep from a diminished well to get there once more, to get there for good. 211118 ... kerry (yes!! i love this, tender_square. trees and childhood.) 211118 ... tender_square (thank you kerry!!! i'd been meaning to message you about "father_and_son"--that narrative knocked the wind out of me. you have such a brave, powerful, and tender voice.) 211119 what's it to you? who go blather from