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cinnamomum

cinnamomum

 

Rusty knives

slipping beneath

thick, puffy tree skin—

We walked

along laurel forests

of half-stripped trees

little people chirping

as they stretched and licked

time clean—

watching feet hold

red bark tightly

stuffing it

with itself—

vermilion butterflies

among billows

of heat

pulling and biting

at our swollen tongues

and the pitter-pat of rolls

strewn like soggy bodies

over padded dirt

to roast gently—

drying out the remains

of drunken rainwater

concentrating slowly

to dust our hearts.

 

© – Magda Wolak 2013. To view more of Magda’s work or to contact her, click here.