Beneath its enormous arms
we crouched on beds
of dry needles lit with rays of filtered sun
and inhaled the crisp scent of divine pine.
We invented our own worlds
in its cool shade.
Worlds that patiently
waited for us to come back,
arrested, protected,
under snow and ice
as we pined for our pine,
where sticks became wands
mud piles became dragons,
and circles of rocks, castles.
We climbed its arms,
oozing with sticky sap
with our ropey limbs,
sweaty palms,
and mud-slicked sneakers
to heights that made our bellies quiver,
and our legs shake in frightful delight,
our real world small and hollow below.
About the Poet
Miriam Manglani lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband and three children. She works full-time as a Sr. Technical Training Manager at Sonos. Her poetry has been published in Village Square, Poetry Quarterly, Rushing Thru the Dark, and is forthcoming in Cerasus Magazine, Canyon Voices, and Prospectus.
Vita Brevis Press 