settling down
if the scent of fresh hewn cedar were anything to go by
we’d be settled by now
arm in arm, an attack on revolutionary rites
the wiles of constant mother
mother, the renegadal structure of digression
a bush growing in the alleyway allowed to remain
permission given for the relapsed rights of torn shore towns.
my arms seek solitude, their waning crescent embrace too cold.
for the first time, i weep into myself.
i had always thought i’d never be the tree trunked fence post
but daily i stamp my feet too burrowed in ash to be uprooted.
a fire restarts and rains, the cinder wheel clockwork like we’d always wanted
alone and wed to be taken in by something stronger
the charisma of paned glass and rowed gardens overbearing
the fruit, like the womb, too ripe to love and always
the fear of remembering the taste.
