Dear Weeping Willow Tree I Wrote That Poem About,
I’ve been trying to remember and I can’t seem to – where do you live? Could you share your address? Somewhere in Massachusetts. I want to say a college campus? A different kind of school? Maybe it’s one of those fancy day schools New England has tucked away places.
I know there are other willows around. I know what you’re thinking – go find one of them to sit under and write about. That makes sense. But here’s the thing: when I visited you, I was a kid, around the age my daughter is now and while I was on that field trip or whatever it was to WHEREVER IT IS YOU LIVE I did the assignment to write a poem about you and I didn’t really think about it, I was just in the zone and I used all the words that used to live in my head along with my thoughts without incident and the artsy teacher I’d never met before with all her swishy layers came up and kissed me on the forehead and I’ve lost that, I’ve lost that zone and I don’t think that zone can be found under just any old stupid tree.
So can I please come visit you? I will be quiet. I won’t cry too much. I won’t try to steal anything you have. I just want to find what I lost.
Please.
-e.