a warning devon fitzgerald ralston
Beneath the leaves, scattered like forgotten paper decay grows in silence, twisting away at strength knotted, ingrained, until the heartwood weakens
and becomes something else, entirely.
a reminder. a metaphor. a photograph. a poem.
No longer an escape route, a way for me to get from here to there;
I stand at the edge, arms open, head to the sky;
I am still. I am never still.
As a girl, my mother called me her bee, and as I watch one go from flower to flower taking in what is offered, before moving to the next I understand why
someone once told me I was like a slow burning fire.
I want to be light and sweet, spinning in circles in fresh cut grass, making shapes out of clouds the way I was
I began rotting under foliage tethered to darkness and poison, splintering
becoming something else.
a ghost. a poet. a reminder.
a bridge not to be crossed.