"Weeping willow" never made much sense to me
I never thought I heard one cry.
Though rubbing leaves did whisper like proud parents’ tongues.
We gathered at its ancient trunk and climbed into its arms
and there we laughed and swung
on branches like green lace lassos.
When we swung we soared.
My lawn stretched yards from flying over its eager crop of dew.
Climbing our hill I harvested a sneaker squelch
to burn my hands tearing leaves
and hear laughter pop like snapping vines.
Then once, when spring came hopping over hills,
and winter left me full and filling sweaters,
its sunlit arms could not hold me.
Now I pass it and see a pool
we might have made with weeping
had we known those simple days
were not for keeping.
With this poem I won the 2007 Academy of American Poets Award At Illinois College.