the apple did not fall far from,
remaining attached still,
veining for your touch,
shining its peel to be plucked.
how could one know,
a plucking could be so traumatizing .
gobbled up and spitting out seeds,
stolen from its family’s tree.
defecating out one’s meant to be,
to not fall far from.
wondering why it is,
why a mother bird flees?
when a stranger’s hands invades its nest,
while her baby birds were left to rest?
never being taught the proper way to sing,
they exit this world with a chirp.
wanting to be a scream.
tree of life,
I see a tree of lies?
I see a man hanging from its limbs,
limbs were made to move,
but just stiffened.
the wind his only friend, giving sway to a limp corpse,
his crime you ask?
none, his race.
dogwood, crafted for a carpenter,
shaped into a cross.
pyres stacked and lit aflame,
devouring women for supposed sins.
so many coffins.
one atop another,
replacing gardens with tombs.
smaller coffins taking up less room,
reliving the time you kissed me,
under its shade,
our initials etched into the skin.
dandelion salad fit for a king,
feasting on your lips, tasting of grass.
would have been so lovely,
for our tree to be used.
I wish I knew the one,
hoping it was maple.
coffins atop coffins.
I don’t see what’s so special about trees,
or have I simply become indifferent.