Pine

Rural Mississippi 2008

Walking past a neighbor’s house, I pause
to smell the pine. A pair shoot up into the sky,
their long pliant needles pointing as if to say,
“Look at the sky, the earth, the air full of flying things!”
But, instead, I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath
of the sharp green scent so familiar it’s a part of me.
The sounds of the city fade as a hushed needle-covered
path rises up and I walk into my childhood.

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