Poetry · Writing

tree bearing

statue once

turned into a tree in broad day light

on broad street

public art they called it

splattered across all headlines-

now i stand, waiting

just waiting for something to change in the stars or the weather

or a god to have pity (any god)

but they are why i am a tree

right-

posing, wishing for rain to comfort

my heels fell in abusive clay

sporting pink buds

littered cigarette buds

and i am standing

here

on broad street

growing flowers as finger nails

watching children grow

feeling their toes

now only a dream

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