It wasn’t the roots
that dug into me
it was the branches
how they swayed
in the breeze
how I sat there
smoking cigarettes
on the front porch
with my mother
rest of the family inside
and told her how I felt:
how alone I am
how alone we all are
and she said she knew
she said she understood
and my eyes welled up
my so-swollen soul snuck out
a drunken Freudian slip
there on the porch
on my birthday
looking at this tree
this godforsaken oak
tree that gutted me
and not one tree
but three, tightly bound
and its branches
swaying in the breeze
knowing the true
definition of loneliness
knowing that being alone
doesn’t mean
you don’t have anyone

it means no one has you.