This piece was originally published in Quarto’s 2022 Spring Print.
Illustration by Watson Frank
a father teaching his son to ride a bike.
a camel with two humps.
a baseball cap atop the skull of a man
with the longest nose i’ve ever seen.
i chuckled.
it was all i could do,
gazing at the thick oak tree in the
backyard.
worn from sixteen years of memory –
souvenirs, permanent impressions,
recollections
of a fresh-faced girl
pushed on the swing chained to its
branches.
higher!
higher!
chasing herself around the gazebo
that housed vows and promises.
a twig was her wand,
her imagination was her greatest strength.
i could only laugh,
a reflection of the guilt of adolescence,
transfixed on the silhouette of autumn leaves
in the dusk.
my youth just out of reach before me,
breathing shallow as the home i once knew
fell from beneath.
i’m sorry that this is how
it has to be.
incessant apologies
met with nods & grunts
sniffles
laughter.
laughter?
grief tainting my spirit
as the last bits of my fresh-faced facade
held on for dear life.
the girl
damaged by a childhood
too short-lived to grasp,
laughing in hysterics to the ancient oak.
asking for a single second
of their blissful romance to return,
for just another year
spent daydreaming under His branches.
as the screen door pulls shut,
an echo of the fresh-faced girl manifests.
now weeping.
wailing.
an ear-piercing sound
unheard since her birth.
He bows down,
branches knelt in her honor
wise in the knowledge that
only for so long can one find solace
in the shapes of leaves.
Callie (she/her) is a second-year Columbia College student studying Film and Creative Writing. She is an (overly) proud resident of Western New York and owns a big, dumb German Shepard-Husky mix. Callie wishes you nothing but love and happiness and can be found on instagram @callieee.jane.