Nannie’s Willow -
It was an awkward little tree,
almost a bush, with that mess
of tangled, gnarly branches,
weeping over its humped back.
My seven-year-old imagination always pictured
it something, either lovely or dreadful.
One day it was the swirling gowns
of a beautiful, elegant duchess,
her deep green, feathered skirts,
swishing and rustling in the Autumn breeze.
On another occasion,
it was the quivering, weathered figure
of a lonely old man - a grandfather,
his arms gently parting in the howling wind,
Beckoning me to hide under his embrace.
Nannie’s Willow –
The ultimate spot of play,
leaning against Great Grandma’s house.
Whenever the cousins came to visit,
we all waited at Nannie’s dining table,
working half-heartedly to muster what patience we possessed
but nevertheless, squirming with anticipation
to be excused so we could go play in our tree.
To the boys, it was the mightiest of all fortresses,
and it’s branches, they presumed,
were as formidable as the Great Wall of China -
impossible to overcome!
To the “little ladies”, as Nannie called us,
the willow was dubbed our Indian tee-pee,
and we spent all day playing “house”
and sipping tea under its canopy.
Nannie’s Willow –
Finally, our parents noticed
the painfully restless fire in our child-eyes
and mercifully dismissed us
from the boring “big peoples’” conversation.
As fast as our twiggy legs could carry us we stampeded,
girls through the front door,
and boys through the back,
all our hearts blazing with greed
to reach the tree first.
Slightly behind, the boys skidded to a halt
in half-stride wining with protest
as they saw their proud fort
being reduced to a girly playhouse.
So commenced the battle of the
Little house-wives and junior frontiersmen.
Nannie’s Willow –
War was serious.
Shouts, screams, roars and growls
echoed through Great Grandmama’s yard,
and the poor, old tree cringed
as its branches were yanked off
to provide weapons for its noble defenders.
So engaged were we in our war
that no one noticed Papa striding
towards the battle ground,
and before we could hide
all evil behind grins of innocence,
his tall shadow loomed over us.
The war was over.
No words had to be issued from Papa’s
stern, thin lips before we fearfully
surrendered our weapons and ran inside.
Nannie’s Willow –
All too soon, vacation was over,
and it was back to home for the cousins,
back to reality, back to time.
Time, for us youngsters was abrupt,
sometimes painful, as we saw dear
Grandma Nannie pass away,
and our tree sold off to new owners.
We toughened up through the years -
grew too big for Nannie’s tree,
and the tree, too big for her house.
So now sits a stump,
just a fragment of the graceful willow,
but upon it we hunch over sweet times past,
remembering Nannie’s tree.
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Submission Name: Memoirs - Nannie's Willow
