The Tree

Look right 

Up into the sun

Stare at it

Until your thoughts are golden brown

All of the pieces that spill over are meant to be kept

Only to bury under a tree that is not yet grown

That will be fed by what you should have let go

Should have forgotten

Should have given up to fate

Holding onto flannel arms that never meant to hold you

Looking forward to torn up pictures that never had you in their frame

Throwing words around like clods of dirt that need to be tilled into submission

Lay down 

Watch that tree take root 

Watch its shade spread 

Relax in the comfort 

Of knowing

Nothing particular

Nothing specific

Just knowing

With a smile

Those lives


Those thoughts


Those pains


As that tree begins to produce fruit

Pluck it off the tender branches

Stare at its polished skin


This is what you created 

From nothing

From too much

From over processing 

And then let go 


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