The Pear Tree

The old pear tree swung low as it rustled in the wind. 

Along dandelions and picked fruits, all so rightfully skinned. 

We ate pears for breakfast, pears for lunch, and pears for supper. 

We ate pears until our guts swung low like the pear tree in the back. 

I never used to ponder the reality of neglect. 

“You do what you need to do, no matter the effect.”

Affected by this choice of words, but unknowingly.

I wilted long in the back, like the old pear tree. 

The leaves grew to be yellow; the flower outgrew its bed. 

I outgrew my pajamas like the tree that was left unfed. 

You can only do so much for yourself until you need their help.

And like the tree, I fell to my knees without a dying yelp.