birch

the birch tree in my front yard

was there on the day we moved in

and bent under the snow every winter,

bent a little 

further each time and never quite 

stood back up. 

sometimes it froze into the accumulation,

stuck in the icy crust. 

one day it 

cracked. splintered. 

 

in summer i'll rip a twig off a black birch tree and strip the leaves and

chew for a while.

the stump in my yard is a paper birch.

in summer i'll scrape 

feathers into bark, catch it with a

strike of steel.

the oils are water-resistant, flammable.

in summer my mother 

broke up with her boyfriend. when the tree snapped

he cut it at the base and left it there. 

we moved out

and time passed.

and we moved back in 

and i took the cut tree from the yard,

hauled it down to the meadow,

and burned it.