Treehouse

Treehouse by Valerie Parente

Started from the soil,
these roots, they intertwine,
like veins with a pulse,
a great time to be alive.

Then we branched out,
like antlers on a doe,
smelling the outdoors,
and now it feels like home.

This treehouse, I like to climb,
we go up to a fairytale place,
so whimsical and evergreen,
since the seasons have changed.

The sun stretches its hours,
the moon, it peaks at night,
the day brings experience,
the evening, an owl’s mind.

Half the year I am longing,
for my favorite spot,
so when the weather clears,
you’ll find me on the treetops.

Don’t tell me I’m the one,
if I’m still hibernating,
the real me doesn’t falter,
it speaks with a cadence.

I don’t resent the gray,
it shows me where I’ve been,
I can appreciate the green,
when the gray finally ends.

Well I guess that’s the truth,
where Persephone could be found,
half the year under the earth,
half the year in a treehouse.

– Valerie Parente (6-5-2021)

Foliage

Foliage by Valerie Parente

This safe haven,
where you can smell the foliage,
leaflets with an amber bruise,
the fresh green Godsend.

These leaves that fall,
they came and they went,
seasons of distress and joy,
while you try to comprehend.

There is pain in bare trees,
skeletal and sharply bent,
you wait, you hibernate,
every year it feels like the end.

You think your pain is gone,
when you are dead,
but it’s the “you” that’s gone,
as your identity transcends.

– Valerie Parente (5-17-2021)