Vine

On the day the axe fell at your root,

The impatience of my goodbye surprised me

Like a cloak,

you draped over each corner, arms sprawled,

hugging the brick and chasing the graffiti with your fingers 

thin and strong, 

tangled and intent

on carving riverbeds through the rock

You drank up the late day sun,

leaves lavish and confident

glistening

            amber

                        golden

                                    rust

I’m making a home for myself, you whispered,

and I wanted it to be true because

I could not look away 

Until the last day,

when your sunset red and ripe peach

finally turned brittle and brown

and for the first time, I saw what was underneath:

cracked mortar and crooked brick

So sure were the signs

that you did not belong

I still miss your greeting from the window 

But at least now I can see

Text: Season Kam

Artwork: Meaghan Burke