Photo by Heather Gill on Unsplash
"They all get taken", I say hanging in the wind. I twist and tug but I'm not loosening up.
"What is it, do you think, they do with us?" our sister wondered.
Deep in my core a volcano silently waits.
"Do they help us?" she asks, as if I knew more. As if I haven't been stuck on the same branch all my life.
The squirrels' chittering rises from below like smoke.
Anticipation coursing.
Is that hunger I sense?
My stem breaks.
About the Creator
Rachael MacDonald
Avid Reader, Sometimes Poet, Occasional Writer, and searcher of truths often lost in the breaths between candy-coated lies.
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