The corpse you planted so carefully last year is bearing fruit.

Reaching out to the sky in tendrils of smoke gagging the air like a putrid brute.

Roots running deep snaking under walls that once stood firm and unshaken

While everyone pretends it is not there, the beast has finally been woken.

Seeping poison into lives that did not know what you killed or why. Where did you hide?

Where did you hide the murder weapon? What words do you choose to salvage your pride?

My indifference was never an invitation to despoil me, although you felt free to do so

It matters little as I shed skins passing through my lives, living the only truth I know.

A corner of my lovingly tended garden stinks, venom spills on my gardening boots.

But you’ll be happy now, the corpse you planted is bearing fruit.