is where I sit,
long before this great red oak tree.
This great scarlet oak -
poised with health, a sturdy spine.
Its leaves green. No, yellow.
Its branches erect,
each longing its fleeting bird.
Its bark like the grooves of my mouth
absent of her tongue.
Its roots dive deep
- six feet deep -
breaking the birch boundries
of my lover's grave.
It sucks and slurps
her decomposition. nutrients.
Now she is fertile. Only to him.
Through his roots, up his trunk,
spewing through his branches
into his leaves.
His envious leaves.
In a waste, his demeaning leaves
spat to my face.
Shotgun. Scatter. to the ground.
Where they lie's where I shall die
in the cast of his scarlet shadow's sound.
Here where I sat long before
his roots took place, waiting
for my love to break down.