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.