Ribbons Poem by Zoe Guillory

So I was left along,
waking from a forced sleep,
my head resting on a pillow of leaves.
Brown leaves that had dried weeks ago.
Abandoned.
In the center of a trail.
Old and beaten.
Like the old farmer's unmarried daughter.
Alone and unwanted.
Pitied.
Alone on a path that lead nowhere.
Too long to see.
Too long to walk.
But I walked.
Past the endless rows of ancient trees.
If you hadn't left me there to die,
I would never have seen
the perfect bows
tied with perfect yellow ribbon.

Mama always said to tie a yellow ribbon
around the trunk of my favorite tree
when I was waiting for something.
For someone.
WAITING FOR WHAT?
She said I'd know
when I was missing something.
Missing someone.

A breeze greets me. Welcomes me to this path.
THANK YOU.
It catches a ribbon,
pulling gently, firmly,
until it is untied.
The ribbon falls and lays motionless
on the roots of its tree.
I stare at it in wonder.
Not faded or torn.
Not eaten by night moths
or stolen by the crows.

My fingers close gently on the ribbon.
My ribbon.
Mama said not to take things
that aren't mine.
MAMA ISN'T HERE.
With trembling hands, I tie
a perfect yellow bow to my favorite branch
on my favorite tree
and stand with wobbly knees
on this strong limb.
A perfect yellow bow around my neck.