We walk the same block each morning
hand in hand.
The air has turned cold.
The branches from the broken tree in the yard
have been carted away
leaving a scramble of twigs
and shavings on the sidewalk.
We skirt them
talking all the while about the rules
and about the small friends
awaiting him inside the house where he will pass his day.
Each house on the block is a tiny field to cross
until we reach his house.
He asks for "one more five"
and I give it.
He asks for one more hug
and I give it.
We are at the door
where his teacher waits to take him.
"You love me" he says, his little face twisting to tears.
"I love you" I say.
The teacher sweeps him off the ground
and through the door
I stand still on the steps
listening suddenly to nothing.
The branch breaks a little further each day
and in its own way
grows back stronger and more alone.