If a tree falls

If a tree falls, does anyone hear?

There was a tree outside the old library block,

its bark peeling, initials scratched in deep.

We raced to it after class—

first one there got the best branch.

If a tree falls, does anyone care?

I pressed leaves into my homework book,

between spelling words and fruit break,

thinking if I flattened them hard enough,

they’d stay alive.

My little sister still draws koalas

under rainbow gums and smiling suns.

She doesn’t know they’re disappearing—

I haven’t told her.

If a tree falls, does it leave a mark?

It was cut down during the holidays—

no goodbye, just light.

Sometimes I sit where it stood

and wish I could grow back too.