Natural Remedy

I poured herbal tea on your wounds,

and used the tea bags to wipe off the

pleas I painted on the wall in watercolors.

I mixed my tears with your favorite color,

so maybe you’d remember how the lilacs

looked in June, but you only remember

how the hornet punctured your neck and

pushed your heart back down to live

with the maggots, because the world is

no place for a naked heart.


Don’t worry, love.

When you hear the buzzing sound,

It’s only the sound of the kettle.

The End

3 comments about this poem Feed