Reflective surfaces reveal two halves.
Apple cut, seeds spill, fall by your feet.
I swallow using the serpentine tongue you gave me.
A tree grows out my mouth
I have grown in the image of you.
When winter came, I kept sprouting.
Let my flowers freeze, frost-kissed leaves
Turned hard and shattered.
When summer broke through
My body was swollen.
I am not evergreen.
There is no shame in hiding
From blizzards. I may kiss the small fists of rain
As they fall but that does not mean
I receive flooding with the same open mouth.
You are the storm that keeps me alive
And the vines that smother me.
The rings of my body are
Your handprints, and my veins
Share the same water.
I may never see the sun as closely as you do.
But every hurricane I taste I spit out.
I will not feel guilty when I uproot
You from my soil. I will not feel
guilty when I trim back your leaves from my sky.
I will no longer be filtered by you.