The Children

I walk my dog
past a house
that's empty now.
The house where I used to hear
The father
screaming at the children
screaming at the mother
calling them stupid.

For weeks
at the empty house
where the father and mother and children lived,
there has been a large limb.

Broken

Fallen from the tree.
Huge, imposing,
dividing the yard in two.
Every day
I see the limb
as my dog and I
walk past.

Yesterday
as I walked the dog
I saw the empty house
and the broken limb, still there.

It was still there.

My legs collapsed,
and I sat in the yard
and sobbed and sobbed.
Weeping for the beauty,
for the perfection

of the broken limb

and the tree,

Still standing.