Then the sycamore fell
The sound was fierce
The action, graceful
Almost sweet.
It splintered
Drove the house
Down
Into pieces. It silently left
Empty shells.
Taste the bitter apple.
Take it from your lips and lay it
Down, slice it perfectly and
Serve it on a platter.
Slice it perfectly.
Do not worry about the blood
(knife’s duty)
Or the bruises
(fruit’s weakness).
Death’s eyes look peaceful
Like they are watching stars.
However, the forest
Would never again feel safe.
Now there are no apples.
Barren landscape
Filled with icecream
And lollipops.
It wasn’t diseased (cancer)
It wasn’t killed (shot)
It wasn’t cold (frozen)
It wasn’t thirsty (was it?)
It stood alone And now the
Roses have gone
to seed\ the grass
has yellowedthe flower beds
are weeds
Now,
In the night
I can still hear the echo.
Now,
I feel the goosebumps of it’s cold shadow
Near my wrist.
About Me
- Valerie
- I am a mother of two (one of each), I sell advertising for television (admit you watch it) and I love it.
5 comments:
I had to read it in stops and starts. It's hard to focus for that long. But it's better than any poem I ever wrote about dad. 10 years is forever. And not so long.
The blogger just erased my comments.
OK. Trying to post again. Blogger hates me.
This poem is amazing. I had to read it in stops and starts but it's so October. It's so sad. Especially this year. Thank you for making it real.
Thank you for understanding me.
I agree with Nik - thanks.
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