sycamore(s)

we put our faces beneath our beds
& walked away. the heat rang like
dinner bells. there was no food in the house
but powered milk & flour. a spoonful of each.
you learn to eat without a mouth.
we wandered through the town
& the sycamores followed us. they pulled
little pranks. tying our shoes together.
putting gum in our hair. i blamed you
one of the times & you pointed to
the branches casting long shadows 
across the sidewalk. brothers always know
more about one another than we will
ever admit. i did not believe you when you said
the trees were pulling out your hair.
i saw you do it. i also know you witnessed
me as i took out my teeth. tried to plant teeth bushes,
hoping one would grow that  
i could use as a body instead
of my own. the august heat swelled. i coughed up
a thunder cloud which then spilled all
its rocking horses on our heads. the sycamores
lent their branches. they were always begging us
to go down to the playground. i didn't want to
see other kids. not while i didn't have
my face velcroed on. still, sometimes, we 
gave in. followed the lumpy sidewalk down
to the schoolyard. there, the trees 
fed us leaves. they tasted like bitter salad
but they filled us up. we were hungry. 
i think they wanted us to become sycamores with them.
there is a legend that lost children are turned into
the trees encircling the yard. their hands reaching
to grab on to an arm. a leg. the sycamores do not actually
want to be children again. they just want to 
play pretend. i wanted that too. i loved how
you never made me tell the truth. held my lies
like little birds. sometimes when we got home & 
put our faces back on, i would pick up yours
& you, mine. we would laugh & switch back.
the sycamores standing in the yard, watching. we would 
shoo them away, saying, "our dad will cut you down
if he sees you when he gets home."