Home > Family, Friends > Lost Tree, Found Girl

Lost Tree, Found Girl

rache me mid-80sMy younger sister’s poem “Lost Tree, Found Girl” sent my mind and heart spinning today.

I spun through time and space, until I was sitting with my still-little sister in the lowest branches of my favorite. To her older and still quiet, black-adorned high school self. To Cambridge scholar. To mom, neither little or especially quiet; though she still favors contemplation, she’s ready and willing to roar whenever–and at whomever–deserves it.

Her heart has always had a special place in my own. Today, remembering the two of us sitting up in that tree, I was more glad to have had that tree-time than sad it’s over. I was so glad, in fact, that I recorded a vlog to sing you all about it.

I no longer sit in the tree, but I can still sit with the girl.

That’s worth another song, if I ever get ’round to writing songs again.*

* A Christmas version of “Let it Go” doesn’t count.


Four years ago Sunday, I posted this poem. It, too, references my beloved tree, though it sweeps that tree in with all the others that filled my backyard and childhood.

an uncomplicated house
it’s fallen into disrepair
once was clearly tended with care
stately, white and crowned by trees
who’d dance and sing and sway with the breeze
you always said that white would stain
nothing so true could ever remain

it’s early now, your car’s not there
i have a moment to stop and stare
at this place i long almost lived
reaching for the little girl who’d then hid
while waiting for her ship to come
a chance to live kissed by the sun

that girl’s still laughing, tho’ she’s gone
packed her bags, grew young, and moved on
tears linger, too, her cries as she fell
and told herself she’d escape from this hell
if i could touch those whispers i would
say it’ll all be okay, if not always good

the house has faded, turned dusty brown
the trees have long been torn down
windows are boarded, doors thrice barred
the flowers are all dead in your yard
once i had hope that you too’d flee
but that was just youth’s naivete

there was always love, bound up with the pain
looking on, i feel it all again
the house shows me you’re chased still
by demons i can’t see and never will
if they’ll not leave you, neither will i
as i turn to go i touch the sky
where i wish you could learn to fly
as in dreams, the only place you’re free
the only place we’ll ever meet
even if you’ll always be

So glad to revisit this poem
having since reacquainted myself with hope.

  1. June 5, 2015 at 7:35 pm

    DUDE. A news headline just reminded I wrote a song in December. I forgot I’d not only written but recorded it. Valentine even said I sounded like Joan Baez.

    (It’s been a busy many months.)

  2. June 6, 2015 at 2:11 am

    Both of your poems are absolutely beautiful!

    • June 6, 2015 at 5:52 am

      Thank you–I think on behalf of my younger sister, too? Posting this made me feel the urge to write more songs. It’s a different kind of writing, and thinking, and I love how it makes the juices flow. 🙂

      (My youngest sister also ended up posting a poem yesterday. It didn’t involve the tree, but it wasn’t far away!)

      • June 6, 2015 at 11:06 pm

        I think its fantastic that you and your sisters all write poems or songs. I’ve never written a song on my own and my own poetry doesn’t come to me anymore (it wasn’t anything special anyway) so I envy your renewed spark. Enjoy delving into its untold fruits 🙂

    • June 6, 2015 at 10:48 pm

      Thank you, Tessa! 🙂

  3. June 6, 2015 at 4:51 am

    Indeed, Joan Baez. Love the poem, the song and your heart in the creative zone. I come here and am lifted up. I need that and am grateful.

    • June 6, 2015 at 5:54 am

      I think of you and feel the same way. Sending much love, and more words later today. (My day began much earlier than hoped, so subsistence mode is going on here now!) ♥

  4. June 6, 2015 at 10:47 pm

    Aw, thank you. I also think of that song you wrote for me, “Little elven girl”. Sitting in Cambridge, that song used to bring tears to my eyes. “Climbing up the tree, further than me…” That tree clearly has such a special place in all of our lives. It was the castle in our childhood games of knight, evil sorcerer, and princess in distress, it was our spaceship, with it’s knobbly “buttons” and short levers, and when we could read, it was our refuge in times of distress. I’m so happy for the memories we built in its branches, even if those branches are probably sawdust in a playground now. That’s where I like to imagine them being, at least!

  5. Paul
    June 7, 2015 at 4:33 am

    Very heart warming Deb – both your and your sister’s contribution.

  1. September 12, 2015 at 5:00 pm
  2. May 13, 2016 at 6:24 pm

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