Dappled light highlights

the shapes made by the

peeling bark on the

crepe myrtle trees.

I go for a closer look.

I am enamored 

by the light, 

by the tree.

Its cracking, 

its peeling.

I’m in awe of 

the metamorphosis 

of such a large specimen.

This is how it grows.

Crepe myrtles 

shed last year’s bark 

every summer.

I inspect myself. 

Am I peeling off 

the constraints 

of where I was?

Is my heart 

busting out of 

last year

and making room

for new growth?

I can see how the 

crepe myrtle has 


Is there evidence

that I’ve transformed?

Are there


that indicate I 

am a growing girl?