Xanadu
 

Growing Up
Elise Abbate

 

You start as a seed.

Just a dot in the ground.

Then you poke your head out.

Out of the dirt and familiar warmth.

And before you know it,

you’re a weeping willow in a park,

on the side of a busy road.

Growing up, everyone tells you “time flies,”

or to enjoy something “while it lasts.”

But you can never actually see that time 

whizzing past.

 

From a seed you become a sprout

searching for sustenance,

you dig into the earth and plant your roots where you’ve landed.

You become accustomed to the scent of grandma’s house on warm summer days, 

and the dull sound of mom starting dinner on a cold winter night.

Still close to the ground, 

you’re comfortable.

 

Then from a sprout you turn into a sapling,

roots digging deeper into the ground.

Friendly flowers and smiling spruce’s make up the growing forest surrounding you.

Now you dance through the living room with Amber,

where the high ceilings and big windows make it feel like a stage.

Friends and friends of friends 

slowly become like family. 

 

But now, you’re not a seed, or a sprout, or a sapling.

Now you’re a tree.

With deep set roots and flowing leaves.

Branching toward the sky, you bend 

uncomfortably and dance and cry with the wind and rain, 

sun and stars. 

Now, warm summer days are filled with beachy ocean air,

cold winter nights are spent in loud studios.

Those high ceilings, the living-room stage is transformed into a study spot,

where your silly old dog lays. 

The terrain around you has changed, and will continue to change.

Because the willow tree in the park

was not always and will never be

the same.