A Tree That Crumples

A Tree That Crumples

I am deceased;

I perished that day.

Nothing is left of me,

I left myself behind.

There is a new somebody

alive in the husk

that once belonged to me

and uses cartilage and skull.

In death a torment would have ended

that carries on now

interminably.

No flowers on my shrine.

The berth where I was found

no place of pilgrimage.

A tree that crumples

in sorrow.

Its green petals encompass

the last of my claret,

spilt in love

for those who loved me.

I bend down, grasp

this dry red earth.

I dig with feeble fingers

a small hole.

More I do not need.

Sprinkle some water,

and hope one flower

will one day bloom.

***

February 28, 2017

Poem by Darren White