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Literature Text
your dad built a tree house
and you would go up there
to sketch and read.
when you brought friends over,
you would place a picnic mat
under the shades.
you were a teen
and i peered through my drapes
and saw you carving hearts on the barks.
pretty soon love began to take roots
so you and the boy were kissing
and the night trees had never been so still.
time and foliage:
today, there is a swing
and your toddler tries it for the first time.
how i want them.
how i want your trees.
© 08.May.2015
Literature
the world doesn't need beauty sleep
mother earth is pregnant;
her curves yawn -
molasses stretches of dark,
dank night freckled with
streetlights sparkling.
i yearn to rest in the cradle
that the small of her back
has become.
the roads untangle like
veins unto her skin
after being held so long
in the fist of pre-dawn.
drunk in slumber, red-eyed,
beautiful - morning will
come yet, the small child
born in the rafters of
catastrophe, aching;
but before her date,
mother earth shifts in her sleep,
love settling in the wing
of her hip -
exhaustion dilutes her blood,
consciousness touches her golden
shoulder on his way out the door.
Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
Literature
Lilium
To the wilting lilies on my kitchen counter:
I am reluctant to throw you out.
You bloomed within a day. Well, some of you. I snipped off your blood orange anthers with the kitchen shears, coating my fingertips with pollen before it could dust the slate and stain my clothes. Hand jobs are always easier to clean up.
I forgot to water you once. I'm sorry.
In the mornings I plucked chlorophyll-starved leaves from the countertop and tossed them in the rubbish bin. Your support system fell one by one, even as you still grew and opened up to the world.
Your petals began to turn limp and brown. I cut away the flowers that were no longer beautifu
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do you have a favorite tree? does it bring back any bittersweet memory?
i would climb guava trees when i was a child. those trees did not belong to anyone. and there was a coconut tree, my grandpa used to climb it.
if you have read are you prayerful?, you would notice this is sort of part two.
i appreciate every single form of support that i've been getting.
05.17.15 the dreaming corner vol.3 by LadyYume
© 2015 - 2024 wispy-blue
Comments16
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I believe, that one day, you will have a tree of your own.
This is one of those poems that overshadows everything I want to say- nothing seems sufficient to express exactly how much impact those last two verses had on me.
My favorite tree was a large Hemlock in my Grandmothers backyard. It was the tallest tree in the neighborhood, standing guard over her house and pool. My brothers and I would climb to its very tip, where the trunk was little more than six inches in diameter. It felt as if we were atop the world.
This is one of those poems that overshadows everything I want to say- nothing seems sufficient to express exactly how much impact those last two verses had on me.
My favorite tree was a large Hemlock in my Grandmothers backyard. It was the tallest tree in the neighborhood, standing guard over her house and pool. My brothers and I would climb to its very tip, where the trunk was little more than six inches in diameter. It felt as if we were atop the world.