Rosalie Moffett

Some trees grow so heavy they split

Some trees grow so heavy they split

            from the weight

of their fruit. Who’s to say what we’ll yield



            to? Too many blossoms. Flowers

are the earth laughing, said the florist’s window.

            I can trust any entity



that funnels its resources into a mess

            of petals as a hedging

of bets against what might get lost



            given frost or high wind. Is it

a desperate laughter? Me, her only daughter,

            fought for, against



her own body which shed two others

            who might’ve become me

except they never did. It’s called



            June Drop when a tree tries

to rid itself of too many, for instance, peaches.

            Every sweet thing you buy



in the store has come far from a ritual

            suffering to meet you

in the fluorescence.