For A Girl, this Forest

Forest of thin trees
not so thin to not
hide her. Dips
in the walk
needles, soft,
Light
through feather
arms,
likely no more
than a man-made block
but for this girl, it was
Sherwood Forest.
Long scream
of hawk,
wingspan broad.
Pausing first
at the pond with its
pollywogs. Then
entering. This
limitless place -
not lost, no one
need find her.
Caps of moss.
Hooves far off.
Honeysuckle
and her
dull duplex
left longing
with its barbie dolls
in small travel
cases with pink
shoes, always lost.
What grows
here is edible if you can
identify. Patches and
squares of timeless scruff.
Missing reference, she
names names -
shirtless tree, paint can,
pokey man, little sister's
tease, her mother's
favorite poetry: Dickinson's
slant of light.

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