My Tree, My Goose, and I

I saw a tree yesterday

On the way home from Abington

Stuck between red lights and ebbs and flows

It was pink

Striking and mundane

Smaller than the others, in full bloom

I wish I could draw those leaves

The way they flutter like butterfly wings

Never static, parachutes in the breeze

I waved back

Instinctual and ridiculous

The pink tree and I

I wanted to explore when I was a kid

I breached the pine tree line

Cut through the neighbor’s backyard

I found a clearing of wildflowers

Behind a bank in Clive

Saw a goose, splayed, deceased

I remember the appall of it all

Stepped outside, rewarded with reality

Skipped to the end, spoiler I wasn’t meant to see

I glanced down

Intrigued and bewildered

The secret goose and I

I wanted to write today

On my couch beside a dog

After work and commutes and rain

I sat to start

Inspired and bored

Mind stewing with plots and themes

I wish I could say those words

Language that reads like novelty

Never static, maybe beyond me

I pause here

Blunt and flowery

My tree, my goose, and I