I wear the scent of the tree,
wet bark, freshly peeled back.
Tearing strips, I tie
I build my fort,
securing branch to branch.
Cedar leaflet canopy,
above me,
loud voices.
Plates rattle.
Legs, covered in dust,
my shirt twisted up.
Hair pasted to my neck and forehead.
Sticky skin. Warmth.
I stay.
No one calls me.
Sap drying on my hands.