My heart, wasteland

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By Rachel Salud

My heart is a wasteland

Of cigarettes smoked to the hilt,

And walls that bear the shadows of rain;

Of tree stumps that never grow,

And seeds that don’t bloom over the concrete earth.

I hide where ants feast over dead roots,

Where broken bottles take the place of stars.

Memories of leaves whine beneath my soles,

And I mistake the wind for the struggle of angels.

My mind wanders the path of airships

Trapped in four walls,

With no destination but the end of laundry wires.



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