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lexy-weixelPoems
An apple rotting, shut away too long, not a bite missing. Did you know, appleseeds can’t actually produce trees? No, you have to cut a branch off, plant that in the soil. Soil’s ancestry leading back to bleached bones left out in the scorching sun. The grass grows taller there, with ancient hymns cooing each blade all the taller still. Yes, the grass grows taller there, but my stomach is full of stones. Leaving pilgrims starving, nothing left to crop. Tobacco fields replace valleys of grass. The day my father tried to kidnap us, there was breakfast waiting downstairs. I tried to eat an apple, but stones already filled my stomach.
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Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
Core
An apple rotting, shut away too long, not a bite missing. Did you know, appleseeds can’t actually produce trees? No, you have to cut a branch off, plant that in the soil. Soil’s ancestry leading back to bleached bones left out in the scorching sun. The grass grows taller there, with ancient hymns cooing each blade all the taller still. Yes, the grass grows taller there, but my stomach is full of stones. Leaving pilgrims starving, nothing left to crop. Tobacco fields replace valleys of grass. The day my father tried to kidnap us, there was breakfast waiting downstairs. I tried to eat an apple, but stones already filled my stomach.
lexy-weixel
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lexy-weixel
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
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