The Teepee

Dear Sister,

Do you remember that time we built a teepee in the woods?

It was our classic Bridge to Terabithia.

We took branches from trees,

Leaning them against each other for strength.

We built ourselves a mini campfire.

We dipped sticks into the brook as fishing poles;

We pulled out little stones to be our fish.

We collected sheets of bark from white birch trees,

And we laid them down as welcome mats.

Every day we travelled across the road

Through the poison ivy

Over the brook

To our little village.

We played indians.

We played cowboys.

We played Star Wars and we played orphans.

We played kings and queens and knights in shining armor.

We tied a handkerchief on to a tree as our flag.

It was our territory.

Then you grew up.

I went there alone.

One day our flag fell into the dirt, perhaps by the wind.

I tied it up again for us.

One day our flag was thrown in the river, perhaps by a breeze.

I tied it up again.

One day it was down on the ground, drowning in dirt, torn into tatters, not possibly by a storm,

But I made us a new one.

One day when I went back our flag was gone.

What more could I do?

I left it that way.

I stopped going there.

The poison ivy grew.

The trees fell.

The brook dried up.

But you know what’s strange?

Last summer I visited it.

Our teepee still stood.

You couldn’t see it from our house.

You couldn’t see it from the road.

But if you know where to look

You’ll find your little sister waiting to play

By a teepee that still stands.

 

This poem is about: 
My family

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