reaching for cherries, reaching for the moon
Between our properties are two cherry trees. Black Cherry, which ripened after school started and were the less explored for it, and Bing. We climbed for cherries—and for the moon.
Rotted knots make for toe-holds ascending the old tree. Lower branches picked clean. What clusters remain are seen at the top, out narrow and bouncy branches. Nobody ever fell for the sake of a cherry. I have to wonder why. The bark is slippery and the breeze increases closer to the sky.
Looking up, cutting-eyes with the afternoon moon, one small step after another. Kids with a hanker for adventure, branding ourselves arbour-nauts of the branches. Chasing cherries in an era of moon landings, when space was still outer. Me, my brothers, and grandmother’s tree.
