Bud Union

I tried to draw my part
electrical line straight
measure the kern of each
segment as evenly
as the cherry pickers
pluck center boughs from the
oaks, leaving a Y of
branches holding air, waiting until
someone will come undress them for bath

Today road layers are
stretching new pavement down
our street, we are sessile
on a swollen square root,
a bud union, two birds
on scaffold branches and
you are, despite acorns,
barnacled though I tell you it’s time,
come inside, peel the sweat from your back

I cannot explain time
or count hairs lost braided
say how road sticks to ground
I only know the three
saw cut for removing
heavy branches without
tearing away the bark
cool water, outside machines you lift
your arms above your head and listen

Claire Gallagher lives in Chisinau, Moldova with her family. 

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