The Fragility of Relationships
Fulva Lillium
Carter Bertram Clifford Smith
She planted her roots in my chest–
digging for nourishment,
but I was scared to drown her,
or roil that precious earth.
Her roots loosened to find
fresher soil to sift
and, in my memory, she wilts;
all my wrongs, unearthed.
I’ll bury my heart in this
rickety frame.
Re-sow this field,
and let spring wash away
the poisons of fall,
but this blight is embedded
in an un-weeded garden;
in my sediment, in youth.
In passion surrendered
to the loam-dwelling pests.
So I’ll drown them and hope
that the thoughts in my skull
are dilations
of a churned, muddied mind–
not the blistering winds uprooting
all the truths I’ve come to know.
