poetry
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UNEARTHED
I buried my grief In the back yard Next to the fig tree But someone kept digging it up I didn’t know who But in the strangest times It would surface Again And again Until I realised The shovel was in my hand The human side of me Craving the loss I’d tried to hide …
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Apple of my Eye
The air is thick with the sound of cicadas, Thick enough to drown out the cries. Hazy dusk light seeps through the window. I look to the apple tree outside, Its branches drooping, weighed down by its fruit. It’s there that I see myself, A branch weighed down by my offering to the world, My…
paper work 