It's not an easy truth to let in:
we can't see anything beyond the
horizon;
can't know the color, shape, direction
of things that we can't put our eyes
on.
Even the slowest, stillest things –
Like the tree I grew up under,
that caterpillars overtook, that fell
silk-wrapped, that cracked like
thunder;
Even the purest, surest things –
Like the child who was meant to grow,
Who climbed that tree (like he should
have) and fell
With its wood, going white under leaves
with holes;
Even the strongest, longest things –
Like the breath that a girl blew in to
revive him,
That sat in his lungs while he merged
with
The earth. All I saw: my old yard and
some crying.
The poem “Being away…” describes an event in a boy’s life in which he climbed a tree. Instead of the tree being a stable and constant pillar of life, it was in the process of dying “that caterpillars overtook, that fell”. Probably the silk of the caterpillar was all that was holding the tree together. When the boy tried to climb the tree, which is a natural instinct, the wood of the tree was not strong enough even to hold him and crumbled, “With its wood, going white under leaves with holes”. The boy fell and fortunately a girl was there to perform CPR and “blew in to revive him”. The air she transferred to him was a breath of life and hope, “sat in his lungs while he emerged with the earth”. Instead of dying he revived but all he remembers of the event is that he was in his “old yard” and was “crying”. The structure of the poem is very formal and simple, depicting the event very clearly.
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