forbidden

The field,

wild in its urban decay

littered with weeds, glass, cans, barbed wire.

Mother rules,

“Not there, don’t play there.”

But the trees on the perimeter,

one especially,

with a shamble of a tree house

high in its branches

calls too loudly to be ignored.

Into the field

up the boards

nailed into the tree’s

slanted, aging trunk

and onto the shamble

of planks with gaps

through which the litter of danger

glares back, threateningly.

Alone, daring, defiant, unseen

on the edge of fright

away from the rules,

she bides her time

watching the birds

and the sky as

the afternoon

slides away.

At dusk

hunger pains

call her home.

She returns

bloody knees.

The broken bottle

intervenes to tell her secret

insure her scolding

leave a scar.

Still there

into her 60s.

reminding her to behave

or

to be called astray into the wild.

 

 

 

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