To the seed in his head

To the seed in his head,

that dug roots into the souls of his feet

and grew branches that cast us in suffocating and dark shade;

you sowed your poison

making him lopsided, fumbling and confused,

and took his place at the seat next to me.

-

As he rose out of his chest

paling before the Autumn,

the lining that covered our hearts is torn -

but deep into the earth beneath his hospital bed,

you were dropped out of his back pocket

and the poetry we write continues to be written.

-

Soak up the goodness of the soil,

hug his body with petals,

and branches that we will swing from,

the arm-breaking not heartbreaking kind.

And as you grow tall and he touches the sun

our cheeks will be painted with freckles once again.