OrchardA Poem by andrewbltyefor
Layla Ghandour As red and round as hot glass but sweeter than menthe leaves and cinnamon, sweeter than ignorance, she glistens, almost a mirage in the desert sun, her teeth the stained-glass silver of a tear crossing her mother’s
cheek when told, “Your child was ripe, your child was plucked from our
branches, your child was an attack on our
hearts and now an attack on yours.” Who else commands us to bear fruit but God? Who else commands us to eat but the Red Man? slinking behind the red gowns of
celebration, and on the red dunes of war, through the red longing of faulty
hearts, in the red peel of an apple. © 2018 andrewbltyeAuthor's Note
|
StatsAuthorandrewbltyeTemple, TXAboutTexan by birth, North-easterner by choice. Princeton Class of 2021. Looking for a community of like-minded writers and people. Engaged in all forms of writing, but namely poetry. Interested in.. more..Writing
|