I remember the old Oak tree full of
broken twigs the color taupe, its
leaves had disappeared with its youth.
It was the only tree in my backyard.

I remember recognizing how ancient
the tree was after I grazed my small
hand on its trunk. It sliced my finger open.
My finger was red.

I whimpered for help
but you were too busy coloring
mom’s face with black and blue circles
to pay me any mind.

Mom finally came to my rescue. She cleaned my wounded hand and placed a pretty purple
Band-Aid around my pinky.

When she was done, I stayed outside.
She went inside.
She said she had to get ready for work.
I played away from that Oak tree.