Barely budding,

you battle the burden of your

family’s canopy.

They forgive fragile you.

Before, your pliant boughs bent

in the breeze.

Now you splinter and snap

against their force,

and you sprint for the shore.

Vines of guilt spew from the jungle,

grapple at your ankles.

It is a question of loyalty.

Their lattice of blame holds you liable.

Once, a green girl, a stark contrast

to the Pacific blue.

Now a veteran of strange sands.

Your brown bark splits from exposure:

exuding sun and sea, empty

of earth.

But often, you pine for deep bush

over brine, for vines to carry you gently

from the firm current of shrewd tides.

Raw and weathered,

you confess distress

to the reflection of a

hallow sky.


I can see it

chaotic in the light.

I can feel it inside of me

flowing through my nostrils,

expanding in my lungs,

reverberating my shaky spine:

out and in

and out, again.

A thin film covers the records, the books,

the blinds that are sometimes

shut against the world.

I break the veil with my fingers,

feel it

collecting on the tips:

everything that ever

was, and ever is.

I’m only scratching the surface.

It circulates through the vents

one room

to the next,

one body

to another.

But no one ever mentions


I wonder why.

Out of the zone
Now that I see
I don’t need them
And they don’t need me
I guess I’ll go home
Try to be sane
Try to pretend
None of it happened
Destined to be
Lonely old me
I thought I was happy.