New Poetry Contribution from Christine Robinson!
I’ve Been Thinking About Cycles
There’s this tree out back with vine couplets
twisting into each other like paper streamers
thick as elephant trunks at the base, gripping
in a deadly vice. In the garden shed a galaxy
of spiders lives in the rotten wood of its walls.
Step into the side yard, where the grass is sickly
blanched but the pine still drips sap in thin,
gelatin icicles from its amputated limbs.
In the kitchen, the Venus flytrap shrinks
and blackens, ignored by the fruit flies
who’ve been lusting for my countertop potatoes. On the porch
my sunflowers’ roots say they don’t want their water,
sink their heads from the sun. Beside them sits a canvas
smeared yellow. Wide, wet, half-painted.