On nights when the pines talked
We shared whispered secrets
Behind heavy olive drapes.
"I think we should go swimming
off the pier," you'd say.
"Hey let's scare the neighbors with our cap guns,"
Each summer we whispered
Staring up at the ceiling of the ancient trailer.
At 13 we discovered boys.
"Randon held my hand while roller skating,"
you offered like a confession to a priest.
"Was his hand sweaty?"
I wanted to know.
At 16 I was alone in the living room.
Our great-uncle dying in the house next door.
"Do you believe in God?" I whispered
to no one but the ceiling.
At 20 I was getting a divorce
Faced with raising a child alone.
It was the first year
I wasn't able to go to the trailer.
At 22 I visited the new house standing
where our old trailer used to be.
I stood outside with familiar pines
Staring up into the blind eye of God
Like the eye of a storm
silent with no wind.
The pines quiet like you and I
-- cousins grown too old for whispers.
We're still close, just not like we were when we were little...