Writing by Alexa LoSchiavo
I climb a caged apple tree to release
All that glistens (red, sweet, and pulpy)
From its yearning.
I let my white slip dress tear
I let the wind tangle my dark hair.
And then, I let them take me away.
It’s crazy to care for something so inanimate,
They say. I should’ve let those apples rot.
(As they grab my wrists and strap me in)
I stare down at their red finger marks,
Naked remnants of distaste on soft skin.
In my dirt-torn dress, they take me away to the asylum.
I am intangible, confessional, nothing they want me to be.
I run and run and run without going anywhere
Miles and miles of caged trees and me.
In a dream, permanence is an illusion.
I suppose in life it’s just the same
I am still reaching, I am still
changed.
