I grow wildly
no longer thorned
concerned with commotions from above
the same old debate
is the world black and white or just shades of grey
I the roots of a blood orange tree
wait the arrival
a song bird singing a morning medley
a swarm of buck moths nipping at my leaves
a pair of unsure hands caressing my skin
with life lines shaped like my intricate roots
hovering over my branches
caressing my ripe sunset colored skin
deciding if I’m ripe to pick
—Jason Kerzinski
illustration by Happy Burbeck
