COTYLEDON
Lemon the hands that held the young scion,
a thorny stock with brittle roots– Soon
grew angry flowers to howl at the wind and
dare thunderstorms with Petaled Fists
dainty in their Ferocity. Defiant
branch-like thistles grab at the air for
anchor, sustainability – bending to break –
Breaking, Repairing, breaking, repairing
bitter fruit forms under abject light
that synthesizes the life it hates
below Blue Skies raging and bellowing
a maelstrom of lightening
then nothing.
Breaking, twisted, breaking, repairing
to thrive inauspiciously in the corner of a
forgotten garden overtaken of weeds and
metal cans, sharp shards of things plastic
and glass from a time long ago, Razed then
Broken now buried and contained in a life of
aggregate and concrete, of absence and abuse -
Spigots of drought then flood, then drought
then nothing.
breaking, gnarled, broken, Contortion.
Lemon the hand that holds the young scion...
