Feb 2018
1.
in summer
we sit in the branches
picking leaves
from the strands
of our hair
we break the stems
and touch
the bleeding tips
to our tongues
2.
quietly
the fruit falls
aging in the soft
shoulder of the ground
flies gather
eating life
before the ending day
3.
summer fails
gathers
and fails again
new grass
grows
crowded against
the wooden fence
my mother
kills the fig tree
branches fall
-old weight breaking
into waiting hands
the sun
warms
an empty space
4.
morning begins
with the ache
of a new flower
shadows move
liquid beneath
the shifting leaves
sunlight through
green paper
in summer
we sit in the branches
picking leaves
from the strands
of our hair
we break the stems
and touch
the bleeding tips
to our tongues
2.
quietly
the fruit falls
aging in the soft
shoulder of the ground
flies gather
eating life
before the ending day
3.
summer fails
gathers
and fails again
new grass
grows
crowded against
the wooden fence
my mother
kills the fig tree
branches fall
-old weight breaking
into waiting hands
the sun
warms
an empty space
4.
morning begins
with the ache
of a new flower
shadows move
liquid beneath
the shifting leaves
sunlight through
green paper
I wanted to write a poem about a fig tree that used to be in my mom's backyard when I was a kid. I sat down to start it and realized that I had too many stories to tell about it. Too many poems to write. So I just combined them all together hoping to form a sort of larger story. This is probably the longest thing I've ever written. I'm still not sure what to think about it.
