The Child, Up in the Tree Again
by Eric James Cruz
My daughter spends the last of June pulling herself up,
one-armed swings and bellows from being
between two spaces. In unburdened light
she climbs into the dark hours barefooted and far enough away that
if she slips, her bones will give.
Dangling in a nation of empty nests, wingless as she becomes
part of it, I forget there are a million joys awaiting us.
I see part of myself drifting; I already feel too old to cradle her weight;
then, the catch in my throat--a longing
as she tosses down small fruit we will share later.
Eric James Cruz is a high school English teacher and poet who lives in San Antonio, Texas. His most recent work appears or is forthcoming in 8 Poems, Ghost City Review, Carve, and River River Review. Cruz is currently pursuing his MFA at Warren Wilson's MFA Program for Writers. Follow him @encodedmuses on Twitter.