#tempestx

Three months after

And heartbreak isn’t any easier now than it was

Sylvia Plath once made an analogy

Of standing at the base of a tree

And watching each fig swell

So heady was the choice of different futures

That she watched them rot and fall

At her feet.

When I look up at my own, its branches 

Spire like, skewer the ripening

Of him and I 

I ask it to tell me what our mornings look like

And the soft tongue of permanence mocks from its sweet innards

Oh rotting thing I cup in my palms,

You worm and wedge yourself where wants