February 2022
Sarah White
sarahwhitepages@gmail.com
Author's Note: I just spent 2 weeks in the hospital. I missed my friends and hope they hear me talking to them in this poem.

The Tot and the Tree

A child of four or so plays under a tree
and, with a stick she’s trimmed herself,
rolls a ball. The tree is a copper beech
that, even in late fall, holds about three fifths
of its finery, gold and gaudy in the wind.
 
But the child feels a familiar pressure 
in the abdomen, and knowing the path
to a modest decorum is  long, she parts 
her nimble legs, and, with a pup’s
aplumb, lets fall a stream on the ground,
which shimmers as if the tree were pleased
to have a child, at ease, pee on the leaves.
©2022 Sarah White
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