Maple Sung
Maple grinned. A patch of trees beat down the heat. Shun it, fan it, wave it with those wavy arms. I am sunk on the porch in the shadow of a rocking chair and swaying with the branches. Tea boils inside like maple trees on fire. Their leaves. A child on a bicycle starts down the street. Wind chases after. They meet at a stopsign and go their separate ways after the briefest of qualms. I am figuring my life out. I am calm. Just under thirty, I am not young enough to be starting over and I am not old enough to call it quits. I am reaching a definition. But not now. It can wait. Now I will just watch. Watch the maples grin at each other and maybe me. I am so proud of this quiet life. I have whatever I need, finally. Maybe I will have a child, too. It will carry me on. I will grow roots into the epicenter of Life. Immortality through bloodline. Or will it not really matter? Maybe memory as is good as blood. I want to stop thinking. Start watching. Sun setting over this neighborhood. I like to consider it a wink, waving the next in line. "Your turn, moon. Go get 'em." She will come up and she will be too goddamned serious. Not me. Not sunshine. While it's still up I will be still. I will listen. I will play a card game tonight and I will win. My wife will make love to me afterward. My beautiful beautiful wife. She is inside humming. I hear it, like maple syrup running down bark and pooling in my hands. Sweetness out of her lips and into me. And I would go in and kiss it. But I am dying. I am going to die. I try and take it in. That humming. Some bird chirps sharp notes that throw me off. I can't concentrate. I feel my heart stop. Oh God, don't let this be my last thought. This is it. No I have one more coming. It's slipping. Concentrate! I never defined anything. Could this be my definition? Hurry, come up with one. It seems important. Here it comes. My last thought. Stupid fucking bird stop singing.