a sugar maple tree in a past life she says of me commenting on my drinking
maple sap out of a half gallon mason jar
for the 12th day in a row.
i am holding the unwieldy glass container with both hands, sipping.
it does taste
heavenly. if heaven were also the home of all past lives and the subtle sweet
juices of what we didn’t know we remembered.
the central leaf of the aloe vera by my window severely droops over
in one instant, as if to tell me that is the direction it wants to go,
and so I move it
five feet to the west,
to sit on my bedside table close to my pillow.
I’ll throw ya to the wolves for that one he says over the phone and I can laugh because
the wolves in this case will be 12 and 13 year olds,
and I will be singing them songs.