More Poems!

I just have so much fun writing poems and thought I'd share:)

The Orchard

I remember tripping over roots

trying to keep up with you.

I was carrying our,

your,

baby in a badly woven basket.

Her plum-like cheeks popped

over the knitted blanket.

Her inquiring eyes never diverted

from my face.

I don’t know why, but I obeyed you,

leaving her in the mossy, creaking

cabin hidden at the far end of

The Orchard.

I remember thinking The Orchard

looked pretty that day.

Golden, rusty leaves were twirling

in the gusty breeze.

Rosy sunbeams pierced through

the lazy sky, stratifying the clouds.

I spotted one shiny apple

still dangling from a tree.

You told me I couldn’t pick it.

We were in a hurry.

I remember following you,

running through dense forest

until you decided to stop.

You told me to climb a tree,

to find a sturdy branch.

I could see your bones trembling

with determination as we climbed.

We dangled our legs over a thick, flakey branch.

You tied a burly rope around my neck.

It itched.

Your cold, stark hand interlaced with mine.

You told me to jump on the count of three.

I remember dangling.

My feet swinging in the anorexic air,

my lungs shriveling under my collapsing ribs,

my hands tearing at the burly rope,

who’s scratching had turned into irritating

pain.

I remember staring at you.

Your feet were stagnant, magnetized by gravity.

You hands looked like frozen peaches.

Your head drooped heavily on top of your chest.

Your body glistened with lifeless beads of sweat.

I remember them asking me where

our,

your,

baby was after they cut us down,

but I couldn’t remember.

All I could think about was the last time

your porcelain hand was interlaced

with mine.

Sonnet

One day I drove along a weary road

between two hills, surrounded by vineyards.

Twisting vines dangled grapes too large for words.

In the cool air, the luscious green leaves glowed.

‘Cross the horizon, the golden sun flowed,

kissing the tops of trees before night turned.

The gleeful, flawless, fruitful songs of birds,

seemingly fostered a secret love code.

But this life was hindered by one dead tree.

Its branches were leafless and shedding bark.

Its old trunk uprooted and seemed to be

corrupting the life of the chirping larks.

With this one dead image I wanted to flee.

One tree stripped that living visage stark.