Don’t speak so highly of me

There are too many branches to hit on the way down.

I remember dancing on the last inch of that low branch,

Safe, with five fingers between yours.

Why’d you let me climb so high?

I’ve seen too much.

I hug this tree now,

It’s easier to climb here.

Yesterday I danced like a little bird with a fat worm.

Tomorrow morning I won’t dance again.

This trunk will never hold my hand.

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Ryan Ciarma is a 24-year-old from Montreal. His works in CAL are the first of his poems to be published from his past year of more serious pursuits in poetry. Using poetry as a tool for clarifying pesky thoughts and puzzling out tricky emotions is where Ryan found a fondness for writing.