Heartwood

When I was a kid there were small yellow flowers that grew between cracks in the pavement my friend told me they were foxgloves poisonous one of those things was true

there was a jacaranda in my backyard that would rain pale purple blossoms in the spring I would climb into its arms and be hidden from the world only it could see me

we saw a headless bird on Mother’s Day at first I didn’t realise what it was I kept putting the pieces together and coming up short when Mum told me it felt like falling

and citrus trees die of overabundance when they reach the end of their lives they produce a final harvest weigh down their branches with hundreds of fruits all small and bitter from scarcity

I walk along the creek path on windy days hair whipping around my face the leaves roaring a whisper around me we feel less alone this way

there was a white gum above the river where my friend had her birthdays we would climb up wet feet staining the bark and jump in over and over to rejoin the water

long before me people would burn arcs of bushland new shoots would unfurl from cooling embers the noble gums survived the fires and grew stronger bearing charred bark as battle scars courageous

and there are trees that grow together underground until a whole forest is one being when one dies the others mourn it they know what it means to be whole and broken at once

when I was a kid I would climb trees and be too scared to come down.