a small sickly tree in the little backyard of my solo house
appears to disappear with the mood of my window’s haze
it sheds its extravagant blooms before the winter’s peak
the cold hasn’t left yet
in fact it’s in high season these days
i pretend this tiny ailing escort shelters red mulberries
for they promise to re-bleed the ice on our memories
i haven’t been home in too long of a time i want you to know
once you last stepped out life in me bluntly refused to grow
this year my eyes’ ill companion kept one of its fruits
it is lonely and hangs at the end of a half-broken twig
utterly fragile at the mercy of even the gentlest blow
it awaits one more blazed tear drop from me to let go
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
© hülya n. yılmaz, February 20, 2015
A poem contribution to the March 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.
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