Bumpy knees, silver-stretchmarked
rise of belly, salmon-tipped
uneven cones of breast,
I sit naked under the apple tree.
Blue zig-zags of vein
along my arms,
lines around my mouth and eyes,
wide and dusty feet,
I salute you.
Ever gracious, you carry me
though I abandoned you
to poison and to dust.
Though I sold you to the beetle merchant,
though I fed you to the blind machinery of night
still, old heart, you beat,
would not abandon me.
Breezes blow
through the mint, wander
on the surface of my skin.
Shoulders with your thousand freckles,
rest. Old soldiers,
drop your burdens
here.
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