Birthday tree.

You are my

this is my

boat,

my pretty plastic

blue boat that

I got

for my day

of birth.

Here it is.

They thought

I was a

boy, but I

was not. I

did not need

circumcision.

My grandma, she

had a dream

of me, one night.

I was a girl.

I am a woman.

She gave me

a tree, a birthday

tree, red japanese fingers,

spindly leaves that land,

still bluster down

to the dry grass

behind my parent's house.

The root ball

is too large to move now.

Only twenty-two,

it lives in its grave.