Poetry
Cinnamon & Apples
-August 30, 2008
I long for the taste of cinnamon.
I can smell fresh cut apples
but I don’t see them.
I’m running in circles
likes these tires on unfamiliar roads.
The smell of burnt rubber
and the taste for the engine
has become all I know.
Still I wonder
how high these miles can add on?
I see through the glass of this mechanic cube,
the trees are spinning.
How I wish I could join them
in their dance.
Replace my body
with the trunk
and my arms
the branches,
to become one of them.
I long to reach for the glowing sun
in this ever-changing sky.
Your warmth
brings life into these leaves.
But I’ve been burning the fuel
that spoils these skies,
giving trees more than what they can handle.
I’m stuck on this road.
Stop the car
get out
and drop the keys.
I’ve been running and missing every opportunity.
Now it’s time to find the fruits and spices
I’ve been searching for.
And then maybe I can become
an apple tree.