Willow Heart

Dripping branches weep leaving onto moss
As she groans and buckles
Under the mantra of roots
Caught and twisted in the moist earth
Scarred with pebbles
Like white blood cells: autoimmune:
Attacking the very source of breath.
In. Out. How she moans,
Heavy and gnarled; years mapped across her,
Twisting knots like planets
With the splinters of other realities
Bleeding, always bleeding,
Always anew
Like sharks’ teeth.
I ask her if this is the truth,
Searching for hammocks in her bosom,
The tickle of blossoms more catastrophic
Than any earthquake
Shaken by size 11 boots;
The pollen dusted across my lids
Germinates the scorch of his hot touch
Long since that first cold winter.
I cradle myself in her premature bends,
Impaled on her trunk through the hole in my own,
And I whisper at the world that flutters by
Her cascading curtains,
Searching for the shadow
That carved his initials
Into my colossal and weeping
Willow heart.

Read my novel here.


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