Abeha Usman – 1 poem 

Dear Parent Who Is Dying or Already Dead

 

I would tell you I’m picking this apple

for your health because you are sick and I am sick

of caring

without helping

without care

 

because what I mean: sometimes I wonder if

maybe I just enjoy

climbing trees,

latching to barked proof permanence, a distance far

enough to almost forget–

 

because these are the things I’m ashamed

of myself, like you would have chosen two-

thousand and I pick just one,

write instead

 

because I would tell you I’m sorry

except these words are words and all I’m saying are words

 

because what I mean: while I’m away showering trees

and carrying careless baskets of

 

 –you are dying

 

apples, I’m up in a tree

and if I could control worlds, not words

 

I would give up apple picking entirely,

plant orchards named after you, perimeter your place, ground

scented trails, nests brimming home, pine

 

to make easy for you.

 

If I could control worlds, not words

I would make tree hit ground, strike lightning

tangle strings like snakes like roots, bury my selfishness,

 

trade spots for you. 

 

    

Abeha Usman