The leaves beckon me to reach higher
taunting with whispery voices
then I look down and can’t see the ground
Clinging tight to the trunk
until I hear the dinner bell
and friends gather laughing from the grass
It takes twenty minutes and my dignity
for the fire department to arrive
but at least I didn’t fall
(Written with my friends at Charles House after I read some arboreal poetry to them, including Birches by Frost and, of course, Trees by Kilmer.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
What goes up must come down …
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Unless it achieve orbit which is hard to do from a tree.
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Thank goodness no falling took place!
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Maybe it’d have been better to fall than the indignity of being rescued.
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🥹🥺😔
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