The Fragility of the Mind
To the Moon
Robbi Henderson-Canning
a thinking tree grows in the yard
its roots twist and tease the ground
hold it steady next to my home;
the sky hisses a breeze through the leaves
and thoughts flutter
through the front door
they cling to the lampshades
and settle in the cobwebbed corners –
the house would be empty
without them
without them
i might sleep at night
or forget about you
or become boring and
they love me to the moon
but not back
because they would die
before returning
they have the lifespan of a honey bee
but somehow sting
over and over
without ever dying
outside, the tree braces for a woodpecker
who has long since died
imagines that dreadful drilling
so loud and piercing
that i have to shut the door
