tree swing

on my back
a tree grows & i tell
someone to tie a swing
to one of its branches.
yes, pick a good sturdy branch.
maybe the limb stretching toward
the neighbor's house
as if to pat the house
on it's head,
good dog good dog 
the tree is saying. 
my brother spends
all summer swinging
& doesn't even realize
it's me, his brother
beneath the tree.
his bare feet collect 
the yard's dirt.
he tries to go higher
& like all young boys
imagines that he will
be the one child
to swing higher than
any has before. possibly
touch a toe to the sky
which he knows feels like
kitchen tile.
maybe he thinks
by swinging he might be able
to shake the tree 
loose from the dirt &
free from my back. i curl 
under the earth 
like an aquifer or a seed
of which i am both 
or neither. 
some days he doesn't swing.
he just sits there 
dangling. those days
are my favorite. i feel just weight,
not his body'd weight but
the weight of all the wants
buried deep in his body.
i want to tell him 
to be careful of letting
trees grow where they want.
i think about my first tree swing
& how it was tied to 
my father's arm. 
i swung & swung &
it was me, i was the boy 
who grazed against 
the sky with my toe or
maybe that was just a steady breeze.
at night i adjust myself
& thus the branch rustle & 
the birds in them beg someone
to untie the tree swing.
the animals think it's unnatural
the animals wish humans would develop
better means of communication.
the cardinals burrow in the dirt 
with me & the squirrels hang upside down
by their toes. each day i tell myself
i'll leave but he loves the swing
so much. i try turning into 
water. i try turning into 
soil. i try turning into 
another swing. the tree stretches 
its arm even further towards
the neighbor's house 
as if to try & steal the doorknob
to their house. i say 
no, stay
to the tree & the tree
crosses it's arms & my brother 
comes out in the morning to find
the tire swing 
limp on the ground & goes to
bury the remnants 
which end up in the dirt 
beside me.