When apple fell from the tree,
she was bruised and battered,
but finally free.
Holes of decay,
she was rancid to the core
but here, she was safe from tree-
alone on the orchard floor.
Though her fate was food for the worms,
she smiled as she rotted
on her own terms
YOU ARE READING
drafts of yesterday
PuisiA collection of poems // "I'm nothing but shambles and the words I can't write."
