Where My Secrets Sleep
by M. Allshouse
My favorite place
used to be beneath a willow—
long curtain branches,
a world swallowed under.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
Safe from harm.
But that willow was
short-lived.
I don’t even remember
where it stood
anymore.
Still,
I hope the willow remembers—
the painful soft secrets,
the giggle-filled whispers.
I imagined it held hope,
cradled little wood nymphs—
lovely, warm,
glowing with magic.
I’d lay beneath its branches
and tell stories to my friends.
I couldn’t see them,
but I knew
they were there.
Sometimes I close my eyes
and feel the hush of leaves again—
a hush that knew me,
held me,
never asked me to be more.
My favorite place
used to be a willow.
And oh,
how I wish
I could be there
like before.
Where My Secrets Sleep
by M. Allshouse
My favorite place
used to be beneath a willow—
long curtain branches,
a world swallowed under.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
Safe from harm.
But that willow was
short-lived.
I don’t even remember
where it stood
anymore.
Still,
I hope the willow remembers—
the painful soft secrets,
the giggle-filled whispers.
I imagined it held hope,
cradled little wood nymphs—
lovely, warm,
glowing with magic.
I’d lay beneath its branches
and tell stories to my friends.
I couldn’t see them,
but I knew
they were there.
Sometimes I close my eyes
and feel the hush of leaves again—
a hush that knew me,
held me,
never asked me to be more.
My favorite place
used to be a willow.
And oh,
how I wish
I could be there
like before.