A eulogy for little plums
That rot away uneaten
There beneath the violet
Leaves I used to pull
When I would climb.
Or maybe they were cherries;
How the memories
Lose pigment
When the poisoned days
Between them branch
So convoluted.
The contour of a tennis shoe
To pulp them in the sodden
Grass.
The tracks in orange
Shag won’t
Vacuum up.
Clustered in its heights,
The tree made fragrant
Use of lacy blooms
To fruit those bitter stains.
How sweetly they collapsed
Beneath a foot
With syruped bursts
To paint my steps
Before I knew I could
Retrace them.

#Vancouver #WA

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