buried deep inside my thumb.
This species split from its origin--
a twig retrieved
from an autumnal rainbow of crisp, clean leaves
of red, yellow, and green.
Roots
spread the veins inside my hand.
Vicious
vines are surrounded
by
the crimson slush of my bloodstream.
The
rings on my thumb
are
the rings of a tree
bearing
the not-so-sweet fruit
of
curiosity gone bad.
Steamy
sweat drips from my brow--
a
downpour flooding the downtown
streets
of a green-tiled city
dirtied
with dust. Cold air
blows
in from southwest;
a
100 watt sun’s overhead.
Shall
I chop off my arm, slice up my wrists?
Yank
out my hair in rough strands with my fist?
I
could bite my tongue, stick a rock in my eye.
Perhaps
I could
think
pleasant thoughts and daydream
in
a land of my own.
But
I will
disregard,
neglect, ignore, overlook,
close
the chapter of this painful book.
I
will calmly carry on with my day
until
a sharp, silvery needle
arrives
to ease my pain.
(About this poem: This was my second attempt at a free verse poem... and I was happy with the results!)
