The ladder quakes and sways under me, old wood
I put too much faith in, like ancestors strained.
You circle me, cradling the baby, sun glittering
in your face, parading through the leaves, glad.
If I looked down I would see your calm fear, see
in your narrowed eyes my bones chipped, useless.
The bucket hangs from my belt, pulling obscenely
at my pants, but the cherries drop in and grow
one by one. I keep reaching higher than I need
because I want the one that tickles your tongue.
When I come down we will both be older, slower,
but what of that? Haven't we loved this climbing?
If the ladder gives way I still believe I can
catch one branch, drop the bucket and ease down.
You may or may not know that I am not a huge fan of poems. I hated studying them in high school and now that I am studying them again, I am not the happiest person in the world. But alas, I have found one that actually makes me happy to read. So I figured I would blog about it. This way, when I'm looking back at my writings a year or two from now, or maybe next week, I can rediscover this poem and fall in love with it again.