Prune

I forgot what it’s like
to breathe and breathe,
Oxygen going in
with my heart falling out.
Brains no longer seeds,
But trees growing tall, tall
Though sometimes branches are ripped,
and the roots pulled and clipped,
Tugging hard, and twisting, twisting
until part reemerges,
part stays the same
and another breaks in two;
The seconds pass and sun sets,
At dawn I find each piece growing its own,
surrounded by brand new saplings
I look at how they’ve grown.
From one, I went to five, seven, ten.
Who am I now?
What’s this new stem?
I feel warped and different,
I’m not sure if it’s good or bad.
Either way I hope at the end,
I won’t feel disappointed or sad.

By Francesca Cassar