I Thought a Tree Dying

I thought a tree dying was a sign of pestilence or terror or you’d done something wrong in your life and so your tree died. But no, sometimes, like a pet, they just go. Lifespan different than a dog, how unfair is that, you just get your dog for only this little finger of time and then move on. Whose pets are we? If the lifespan of a tree is significantly longer than ours, does that make us its pet? Like in the concentric circle of lifespans, who wins that contest and is that how you decided to make god a thing? Who am I asking all these questions of, my mother? I am the mother now and have to come up with answers like the way one letter from the word “now” to “not” changes everything: your breakfast is now ready, your breakfast is not ready. Why don’t we speak typos. At the level of the letter. It’s when I saw my hand holding the baby’s head I realized I wasn’t the baby anymore.