marble tree

we played with the dead man's eyes
until they turned into marbles.
his body lied 
like a pile of broken windows.
we were children 
of the quarry 
& the smashed factory
where weeds grew like skeletons.
i always believed 
in transformation. that the landscape
was a playground 
of televisions. i invented alphabets 
to tell the truth. 
here is where men are
turning me into pink poultry meat.
only it was written in a tongue
the rocks & me understood.
i carried those marbles 
until all the other children
where gone. busy with hair ties 
& sugar free bubble gum. 
planted them in a ragged dirt pile
& waited for the marble tree
to grow. waited days & days.
watched the sun dry out.
plum to prune. it never sprouted.
i always wondered what i had 
done wrong. it is so hard
to kindle with nothing.
speaking to the earth
& begging let something
learn how to be alive. 
now years later i still believe
in marble trees though.
i think maybe if i returned
to the factory yard, the one
right beyond where the plane crashed,
i would find the tree gleaming
with little spheres. blinking 
dead man's eyes. they would 
sing to my like song birds.
swallow gulps of orange juice light.
They would promise me 
None of it was your fault.