spent in Ever-Ever-land gazing from the bending bough
of my masochistic guava tree is again before me.
As I itch to pen this poem, my memory extends to that
very spot where I got entangled with the persistence of dreams,
where reality seemed only a plausible distance from which
to hop out of, sweating as much as is required to blink.
I would think myself into oblivion, into worlds where a pinch
couldn’t wake me, until an ant crossed onto my unfamiliar skin
for a stinging taste.
The unblemished sky of my twelve year old mind
is disturbed, warped under the dome of perspective
and I hear the chronic crack beneath my gained weight.
I entreat the tree to allow me another minute of irresponsible bliss,
of problems that can be fixed with a heartthrob’s love song,
of daydreams unmarred by the stranger I’ve become;
but I know, it is not so, and nor ever again will it be
for as much fruit as it still bore, I left behind a dwarfed tree