I don’t know how to age
a tree, without cutting it open
to count the rings.

This tree in front of the tan house,
taller than its two stories,
is it older than me?

Did it once watch my yellow hair,
my skinny legs grow,
and cover me while I drank

Kool Aid in July
and tried to decide
whether to follow

my brother
or my sister
around that day.


Featured in Every Day Poems. (Do you subscribe? For just $2.99 you can have poetry delivered to your breakfast table every weekday. It could change you, for the price of pocket change.)


About LW Lindquist

I'm a writer. I'm also a claims adjuster, helping people and insurance companies make sense of loss. I work out of my home in the rural Midwest most days, and other days, out of yours. When I'm not crunching numbers or scaling small buildings, you can find me with a stiff cup of coffee and a book on my sofa, bantering in the introvert's hideout on Facebook, or avoiding Twitter. I'm an editor at Tweetspeak Poetry, a premier play-place for poets, word lovers, artists and photographers. We're home to a poetry daily (Every Day Poems) and an award-winning press (T. S. Poetry Press) which boasts an Oprah Magazine Best Summer Read. We're also the fine confectioners of where you can share sweetness with someone special or the whole world.

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