Bitter Bridges

The fruitless tree mocks me from the orchard.
The irony is you planted it.
The painful irony is you loved it.

You nurtured it and willed it to bear you fruit.
But you were never angry when it failed;
“Next year”, you said.

Better nothing, than bitter seeds.

When I could not bear you fruit
you said I was not a real woman.
You burned the bridges of our love.

Better nothing, than bitter seeds.

Now I am swollen with sour grapes
but the bridges lie in ruins.
I cannot reach you on the other side.

Better nothing, than bitter bridges.

(March 2013)

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