The Pear Tree

Rain drips smoothly down,
and fills up the indentions of
dog paws on concrete.
Like one of those memories,
now lost among the pear trees.
Those my father cut down one April day;
I was getting lost in the leaves.
He said, "Come down, or you will become a branch on that tree!"
So, I did. And now, I pace the world,
this stigma hanging from my neck:
square-celled albatross.
Oh! And they all laugh,
As the bark pinches my skin
and sap spills into my veins,
and flowers begin to blossom
on the cheeks of my face.