THE CHERRY TREE IN THE NEIGHBOR GIRL’S YARD – by Rustin Larson
one of my many mansions:
easy branches for smooth reclining:
bubbles of sap glossed over gashes
of bark: wine-dark and stiff,
smooth as blisters: to prick
would be to make them bleed.
Dee cut a wake through dew
with her blanket, a living calico
stole purring around her neck:
she climbed humming, and peeled
the sap, ate it: her eyes glowed.