Out the backdoor or simply from one’s window perch
The wooded corners still exist
We try to cover each and every crack with cement
Keep the earth covered
But here there are trees and bushes
A courtyard or an abandoned corner
of this miraculous earth.

What poet? – Did Edna St. Vincent Millay muse here?...
Or did Tom Paine sit under this tree?…
Did Washington walk here?...
Did a lord kiss his lady?...
Or a scullery mad hug her paramour?...
Did men work hard indoors and come outside to rest a moment in the sun?...
To mark whose property was that fence nailed to that tree?...

Who owns this tree?...
Dare I venture here?

©2009 Mary Barnet