Cynthia Anderson
Hideout
At the edge of my family’s land, next to a swamp overrun with wild grapes and skunk cabbage, stood a massive evergreen, a mother tree, laden with tiny cones. It wasn’t easy to climb. The branches began high off the ground. I had to stretch my arms nearly out of their sockets and push hard with my legs to scramble up. It took several tries. But once there—the quiet. The clean scent of green. A place where nothing went wrong. I held, and I was held.
checked baggage reclaiming my lost self
About the Author
Cynthia Anderson has published 12 poetry collections, most recently Arrival (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023) and Full Circle (Cholla Needles Press, 2022). She has lived in California for over 40 years. See more of her work at www.cynthiaandersonpoet.com.
Brings back memories of a giant Red Oak in my childhood back yard. The tree, a touchstone to fleeting youth.
Thank you Tom! I appreciate hearing about your tree. Your reply inspired me to ask others to share about their special childhood trees.
To hold and to be held. Basic yet profound.❤️
That is the key point for me, too, Abby. Mutual, reciprocal, loving and being loved back…xoxo
Love the cut between the prose and the haiku. Chef’s kiss!