Holly Trees

We were small enough to stand

and not get pricked by the leaves.

So, in the thin, green tunnel

at the base of the holly trees, Maggie and I

made our own home.  All day was a hunt for food

gathering smooth potato sized stones and meaty

pieces of mulch. Sometimes, while we sat there cooking

side by side in the dirt, I wondered if we were married. 

And I thought she caught me once — snapping her neck

around, eyes widening, startled. She squealed, Emma?

But she was pointing at the muscular, hairy legs

outside the trees’ small opening. Emma,

who is knocking on our front door?