They hung me for clumsy crimes
and petty acts committed unwittingly.
I hung at wit's end;
swung back and forth
in time with the rope’s creak.
It did not concern me
to be hung - coming from a tree
I was used to the feel of suspension.
I will admit that hanging there
gave time for thought. I regretted
the hurt to Geppetto who stood
below, eyes raised as if I
was a mysterious sacrifice.
My breath exited, I found though
that my toes had kept
some sort of consistency
with distant roots, while fingers
became leaves.
I spread out; soaked in the world
while time became the preoccupation
of those who hung me.
When they cut me down (again)
I ran to Geppetto’s arms, wept tears
as thick as sap; promised him
I’d do better with a second chance.
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