© 2020 by LAURA TUTHALL. All rights reserved.

Harvest (2013)

 

stand beneath

the 4am cherry trees

with white-out dreams

leaves like tissue paper

petals like pink erasers

glow in the streetlight glare,

taunting me

 

your colors drain

chlorophyll out of my veins

the wider your margins are

the further my roots stray

 

it’s true

I don’t stand in your shoes

I have no right to demand an anchor line

but let me warn you all now

that when the harvest comes

I won’t need any ground at all

none at all

 

when I say “fine”

I mean “won’t you change your mind?”

the purpose of conversing

is to test, taste, and divide

 

it’s true

I don’t stand in your shoes

I have no right to demand an anchor line

but let me warn you all now

that when the harvest comes

I won’t need any ground at all

I won’t need anything from you

 

so just stand beneath

the 4am cherry trees

and think of me

skin like tissue paper

laughter like pink erasers,

glow bright

in the lighthouse haze

 

and now I’m sand

grains fall as raindrops do

to the new nettles

on the dirty earth

where I was first infirm

 

you say

“tell me what’s in the way,

I’ll move it for you

if you can point it out

no matter what the truth weighs”

but when the harvest comes

you don’t have any arms at all

and I just float out to the sea