I am wearing a soft pink shirt,
it’s loose against my skin and
I think that it fits me better
than all my other clothes do but
it does nothing to hide the
knife, thick and sharp, that I keep
in the little pocket. My intent to inflict
violence is the reason you should
bury me under the lemon tree,
i’ve heard that
it will make them sweeter.

I am a rifle without a reason
to be shot. I am waking
from sighs and whispers.
I am not good with pruning
memories like you are, I dream
of the world ending countless
times,when I get caught up in them,
shaken about, you
kiss as sweet as the lemons
are sweet.

I will bow down for you, hear
you whisper through the wall
let you break the world, i will
call you god if it makes you merciful
all I ask that when you end the
world, that you remember the
lemon tree in the back yard, it spans
years in many seconds and
that if you bury me under it
i will finally know peace

-Cait Potter, – ‘I am not holy but bury me under the lemon tree’


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