there was a plum tree in our yard
that grew fruit once,
dark and unspeakable sweet,
and then never grew them again
though the bees
crawled through the blossoms,
though the pears fell soft and rotten
and the wasps came to drink their broken sweetness
there were no plums. No November Moth
the house is gone to ash, to broken plates in dirt
to a driveway and a septic tank and a garage full of parts
the bicycles rusted into the clay, the fruitless tree all twisted
years later, there was a summer, and a broken heart
and in someone's yard, a heavy laden tree,
plums dropped on the sidewalk,
that infrequent flavour of flowers, of perfume
that gorging on sweetness
who knows if it will come again
HF Visits: Coleccion SOLO in Spain
2 days ago
mm lush
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