Fruitless Fig Tree

Oh god, I’m reverting. A mitosis mutation in halves, I’m a two headed calf, A fig tree that never bares fruit- Too short at the roots, Torn up, shredded, and dumped at the base Of produce growing in a brighter place. I am an albino corn snake- There’s never shelter for skin so pink When you live in the fiery-golden chaparral. A genetic anomaly, I was meant to die at birth. Little lungs ran late By the stop-watch of a mother Silver-lined, with a great Heart beating strong enough to start another, Strong enough to burst a seed into a sapling That should grow gently into the sun, Should spread its branches open to everything And lend a home to everyone. But I have split my finger nails Digging into earth’s entrails To try to hide Like a worm, slithering through dirt Digesting everything on my way under, And leaving behind something fertile, Something that I’ll never see, Cause I’m as blind and fruitless As that old fig tree. Oh god, I’m reverting- For the heaven’s sun has set behind the bend, And that golden angel’s floating, So I fall back to the earth again.