Family Tree

Family Tree

(“Make friends with your opponent quickly…” Matthew 5:25a)

I am your family tree.
I am roots with your branches,
I am wind to your clouds.
Every chance has passed us by,
and I’ll take this one again to
ask about your anger, to inquire about our pain.

You hold it in, but artlessly;
there is no question the burn you feel.
I may have started it, it may have preceded me,
but all the same,
we should walk ancient paths together,
carry our mutual sorrows without blame.

You begin. I will listen. You’ve carried it
a decade. I’ve heard your complaint. Talk now
where only the trees can overhear; the forest is
safe with trails trod by dozens who backtracked
to conversations
began in the heat but never
subjected to the cool of the day.

You begin. I will not answer. State your case,
but remember, we are the same vine. Sun in sun.
Rain by rain. Seasons when the dew is dormant.
Seasons when the fruit reclaims its sweet-tongued
joy of summer. We are joined, twig to twig,
and the days are getting shorter to speak the
same language again.

You are my family tree,
and so walk with me before the night
puts everything to rest, deletes the words but
leaves the pesty narrative inflicting our hearts.
You begin. And we will share the apples the
orchard provides, sweet as sweet on both of
our tongues.