I had a secret hiding place

when I grew up

in the back yard

beneath a flowering tree.

I do not know what flowers they were

I would sit beneath it

on the ground or sometimes

on a cement block that lay there.

I can’t recall why it was there

sometimes I would pull out a pebble

from the ground

I ascribed magic to it

when I was a child.

sometimes I would talk to myself,

I never let anyone know I was there

even if I heard my mother call.

I never acknowledged her,

no one ever discovered me,

the only secret I kept to myself.

still I believe I live a secret

in a place I want no one to enter,

holding words in my hand

holding them in secret.