The Treehouse By Erin Miller

The Treehouse

She sits there before me cross-legged
in our tree-house sanctuary,
away from the prying eyes of our
conservative, born-again Christian parents.
A girl’s place well-known in these
restricting confines of our known society.
Nearing thirteen but not quite there,
she looks at me,
a miniature Aphrodite,
her blond hair shimmering from
where the sun hits it.
Blue eyes peering into my own hazel green.
Me, a female Ares
unkempt bright auburn hair,
bangs I brush away from my face
with my hand.
She looks at me slightly trembling
If I was a man, I’d kiss you.
We stare at each other not moving,
silent, unsure of what to do next.
The staring contest continues and
we both break eye contact.
Do girls kiss girls?
I put down a Pokémon card and
make the next move in our game.
Our sapphic moment forever in
the back of my mind.

By Erin Miller


Erin Miller is an artist and a poet. She has an MFA degree from Arcadia University in Creative Writing and has had her art exhibited in numerous galleries such as but not limited to Phoenix Arts Gallery, New York Art Connection, and the Pahrump Valley Museum. Currently, she works as a teacher in the state of Nevada. Her past publishing credits include Daily Star, Lesbian Connection, Poetry and Covid, and Ovenque Siamo.

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