The Girl in the Tree

Free verse

Published in The Lark

The girl in the tree appeared to me
Telling me not to forget.
Not to forget the girls like her
Not to forget they’re always there.
Tried to remember
The last time I saw her.
A news item
On the TV.

It was something about a story she’d told
One that we’re not to forget.
One that the world
Does its best to ignore.
One that we’ve heard
Far too often before
And haven’t responded to yet.

The sun came out, and the birdsong started.
The dangling legs in
Designer kecks
Made by the girl
Somewhere else in the world
Disappeared from my view
In the tangle of branches.

I continued my walk and lost track of the talk
And went back to my thinking
Of all sorts of things.
What I’d got in for tea,
When that meeting would be,
The Olde English Woode,
The countryside foods,
And a beer at the end of the day.

She popped up once more sitting high in the leaves
And her voice reached my ears
And forced me to hear
How her brothers at home
And her sisters abroad
Made the shoes on her feet
That she couldn’t afford.
And I listened awhile and resolved to recall
What the girl in the tree was saying to me.

But the sunshine was warm
And she melted again.
The bumblebees buzzed
The gurgling brook gushed.
The cooling soft wind
Bounced the butterfly wings.
The flowers in bloom
And the scents of the wood
Led me further away
From the words that she spoke.

‘And the girl in the tree?’ A voice asked of me.
What girl?

. . .