#37
Independence
I am unwillingly independent,
thrown into a world of individuals
and learning to look down at my feet
as strangers pass.
If I bump into anyone, I set fire
a hasty apology
sorry sorry, I must be lost in thought
sorry sorry
while they stop listening and stop looking.
Trees wag their fingers --
how can anyone escape their accusations:
liar liar with words like fire
you come and hide in the open world
trying to convince yourself you're strong
liar liar with words like fire!
How can anyone argue back against the mute giants
who know, yes they know, anything you could try to say;
they wag their fingers and don't care.
For long ago I would look out over the woods
that cover our hills like an old blanket;
I would say to myself this is where I belong
and I had found home where I had been living
all along. And I had found awe in the ordinary.
Now I walk and look down at the cracks in the sidewalk,
spidery and winding through the blocks;
has everyone pushed away from me, or have I pushed first?
The trees wag their fingers, and the wind is their voice.