The Dogwood Tree

staring through the white plate, completely through the kitchen counter and laminate floor;

i saw the way the tendons in her neck cinched rigid.

//

a string of rubies pulled too taut: bursting, then an echoing scatter across the cold tile;

maroon, maroon, spilling into the ochre-pallor bathroom
she spills out of control / squeezing her fists so tight, she can feel too clearly when it wrestles out of her fingers / she wants to be (seamless vessel) but she can’t just can’t, she just…

she just spills.
steadying herself in the corner, against the far wall.

//

smudges of dirt on her Michelangelo cheeks.

a pearl peering out from the cracks of a gritty, crusted oyster.

//

the Dogwood Tree: branches like tendons reaching to the spring sun,
thinly veiled with their delicate blossoms:

teardrop white opal petals, suspended
in shadow & light;

she dances.

she dances, intricately
suspended in shadow & light.

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