Sleeping In a Tree








I haven’t got much time to write this because I don’t have much

time, like everyone, who always says, “Hey, I’m everyone and I have

so little time.” I keep meaning to make more time in my basement.

I have thought of baking my time, making it super fresh and

breadish, so as to warm the house with the smell of a baked good, but

I’m having trouble finding a good place to start. Last night, before bed,

I could see the faces of my children and their faces did not look right,

like maybe they weren’t my children at all, just some kids who

wandered in and got stuck. We all get stuck sometime. But really

the important thing about words is that they exist. Remember how

in high school certain words made everyone laugh? Remember how

sexy sex was then? Remember how hard it was to remember to do

what you knew you were supposed to do? Remember Algebra? Remember

me, in my raincoat, coming to you with a sad glass of soda and a vague

sense that the world was coming to an end? I can’t remember anything

anymore, only the outdoor world, before the discovery of fire, and

how at night we’d just huddle up together and wait for it to pass.







Photo Source: theKitchn

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About Author

Peter Davis' books of poems are Hitler's Mustache and Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! His next book, TINA, is forthcoming in 2013. more info at

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