I’m the only naked one
here on my family tree
walking bare
no need for underwear
through my living room
where two that grew within
my womb
are nesting on the couch
watching the glow of their screens
the seed of their life force
ready for harvest
is busy sharpening kitchen knives.
I’m the only naked one
in a sea of aquamarine masks
buying yellow squash
from the market vendor
counting dirty metal change
into waxy rubber gloves.
He’s wearing them
to keep us all safe,
and I give him
the only afternoon smile.
The naked trees near our home
remain upright,
established, and grounded.
Secure in their aging skin.
Surviving famine, blight, disease,
growing while guarded.
A kaleidoscopic canopy
of ever-changing camouflage
exposing and limiting their view.
Why can’t we do
what trees do?
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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