Barbi Moroz

When I was a kid, I climbed
spiraling branches of dark brown.
I’d get as close to the top as I could,
but when the branches became too thin,
I’d look down and marvel at the distance
between my body and the ground.
My hands, covered in flakes of bark,
and worn in a way they’re not now,
would guide me down the giant maze,
and I’d venture off to another place.
I never got lost back then.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.

Posted on December 20, 2012, in Barbi Moroz, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. MM welcomes Barbi Moroz with three very good poems. This is the first, and I really liked its near equivalent to the ever enthralling sense of unusual scale, if you know what I mean.

  2. A tree branches into a narrative of language and technical perfection.

  3. You’re not too old to climb trees, Barbi. I’m not. If it wasn’t 0 degreesw outside, I’d go climb one now.

  4. You’re right. I need to climb a tree again. I haven’t done it as an adult.

  5. I got a lot out of this poem. The reckless litigation of family values will truncate the entrenchment of our re-ruralization. Slam-dunk da funk!

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