My Writing

Cherry Tree Leaves

Rachel Sandell

~

Once, you held me by the hand.

Once, you gave me a nudge.

Under your eye, 

I took my step

~

and huffed a breath,

~

You made me feel alive,

you opened my eyes

so I could see the world

in vivid greens and gleaming pearl.

~

The cherry tree leaves are so pretty tonight

as they flutter on butterfly wings.

Soft pink brushstrokes, weaving,

down from the sky.

~

Is this where you first spoke to me?

~

The bench is chipped

from hard winter nights,

when snow fell

and for the first time, stuck.

~

In my lungs, air grows colder,

it pierces me till I smolder,

if we keep growing older,

will you ever 

~

let go of my hand?

~

Each step I took, 

you were two steps ahead,

yet you doubled back

to help me walk.

~

You spoke your bold mind

and though your words 

stung sometimes

I always knew they were

~

from the heart.

~

Step by step,

breath by breath,

you carry me

and way more important:

~

You helped me to walk on my own.

~

Day by day,

night by night, 

would you

have trouble walking

~

if I stumbled and fell behind?

~

Do you remember 

meeting me

beneath the pink cherry tree

when I was too shy to live?

~

When you caught my eye

under the chilly spring sky,

I knew I was 

bold enough to try.

~

Do not kill winter — 

let the frost run its course.

If you let go of my hand, 

I promise

~

I’ll keep holding yours.

~

Photo by Maria Lupan on Unsplash

Published by Rachel Sandell

Rachel Sandell is a writer and editor from Washington State, where rainy days necessitate long books, hot chocolate, and plenty of magic. Though she specializes in speculative fiction and harbors a love for the dark and enchanting, she also dabbles in poetry and is the archive project coordinator for Fireweed: Poetry of Oregon. She is an MFA graduate from the Rainier Writing Workshop, and her short stories have appeared in SORTES magazine, Night Picnic Press, and Leading Edge magazine.