Milk Tree
–Laura Kasischke
Heavy fruit
on bony branches
full of the knowledge one always encounters
too late
at the end of a life. Someaspirin mixed with water, and a mouse
born in a dream. The sounds my son
once made while suckling. That, made
manifest. Little
milksop
and myself. Ourbodies, temporary
shelters, rented
breath. Not even
here long enough
to lament.Today the breeze wears a fern:
Shiver
and living in the world, in
your brief green dress.The amputated breast, like
a soul made out of flesh.
Photo by Andy Feliciotti on Unsplash