Poetry · Writing

four apples

hands behind my back

these aren’t the apples

i was looking for

i remember

the strength leavin’ my tips

for four straight nights

four bars over four moons

this cell is my home

brought an apple every fourth hour

four steps in four steps out

just the white lines on the stone ground,

they were different four days ago

is this

granny smith

Poetry · Writing

roots

why do you like what you like

was it rooted before you knew

why do you believe everything

in that book grasp firmly in your hands

are those roots

ready to be tugged on

what is really in that food

that you love so much

are those questions

you can ask

answers you’re ready for

how do you know

what you know