a love letter to mother nature by Megan Pitt (16, New Jersey)

​I kissed the tree in my front yard.
There was no tongue, no substance behind the kiss--just my pink lips against the bark.
​I traced the trunk's gentle grooves, whispering a thank you to Mother Nature, my voice lost in the night.

---

The outer bark is my grandmother.
             It is her, handing me medicine down from the top cabinet. I cannot reach and she will not
allow me to suffer. She leaves the container on the counter for me as she lays me down to rest,
tucking me in beneath piles of white sheets.
             It is her, filling a glass of apple juice and bringing it to me in the morning as she makes
sure I no longer have a headache. The sun is streaming through her blinds and creating images
on her face, illuminating her blue eyes and golden hair. She serves me breakfast in bed, calling
me her sweet girl.
             It is her text, the very next day, praying for the relief of my earache. I am at work, taking
orders at a fast food restaurant. My day has been just okay, but she makes it better.
             She is my protector, just as the outer bark is to the inner bark.

The inner bark is my mother.
             She carries what she has learned from my grandmother into what she teaches me.
             She climbs into bed in the evenings, beside my shaking body. She wipes away my tears,
her wedding ring shining in the reflection of the moon. She whispers that her mother kept her
company, just as she was to me.
             She sits on the beach, always picking a spot by the water where the breeze can cool
her. My grandmother sits beside her. She tells me to do the same.
             She applies sunblock, even on the cloudy days. She says my skin is young now, but will
not be forever. I’ve heard my grandmother say that before.
             My mother feeds me my grandmother's knowledge, just as the inner bark feeds the
cambium layer.

The cambium layer is my father.
             He lays vitamins on the kitchen table, as he battles against exhaustion in order to finish
his glass of wine. He tells what each will do; the pink one will help strengthen my bones and the
blue one will make me grow tall.
             He cooks dinner, a ratty old apron covering his ratty old tee shirt. Chicken. He tells me.
Protein is the key to true health.
             He fixes my bike, sprawled on the living room floor surrounded by tools and loose parts.
He watches as I ride away, cigarette smoke framing him like an aura as he takes another drag.
He smiles and waves me off, proud to be a father to a girl who will make it around the block 7
times before her return.
             Just as the cambium grows the cells, my father helps his children grow.

My family, their souls are reminiscent of the parts of the tree.
And so I whisper regards of my love to dear Mother Nature.