poetry fix: a note to shel silverstein
You made me the other woman before I was born.
When the boy carved my initials above M.E. and T.,
I became the one who lured him away
from raucous swinging and naps in her shade.
Soon other distractions
made it difficult for him to remember
the way light filtered through her leaves
or how sometimes not talking
is the best way to say everything.
Of course, you had the boy find his way back to her
after the apples and the branches and that solid canoe.
By then, he was worn out from
trying to fill the cavernous space
he refused to name but couldn’t ignore.
I knew someday
you’d make him long for sturdy and true . . .
return him to her before he ran out of wonder,
exhausted from chasing after the boy he used to be.
– by Yvonne Melania Lieblein