Little calloused hands climb up a grandfather clock
Pink cheeks and huffy breaths of exertion
We try to pull ourselves up the very same trees
That lightning struck down years ago
I don’t see my dad as much as I did back then
We’d rake leaves together, and I’d balance the rake in the palm of my tiny hand, standing in the middle of the street
The cul de sac holding me in the palm of its own
Yellow leaves brushed my ears as they fell
From my tiny tree and it’s plastic branches
And my dad laughed
When it leaned
And I ran towards it
As if I could stop gravity from taking its course
As if I could freeze time
And stop it’s fall from grace
My sister’s middle name is Grace
It’s been years since she and my dad have smiled at each other
Both of them have forgotten about those falls
When auburn leaves got caught in their hair
And the world was little more than the colors in the breeze
They mount the top of that grandfather clock
And stretch their hands tall, reaching, like if they get close enough then maybe their God can save them
From the fall