in the cruel heat of every summer now
sacrifices are demanded from the tree
someone’s neck must face the sun’s guillotine
a young virgin branch or the old lady limb
and every year the king that rules the
tree bows to the ear of the moon asking
for mercy feeling the torture of Abraham
holding a knife above his son knowing
one must offer their green hand
for a brown twig with corn chip leaves
the following morning the fire
in the sky appears angry
stares with pitiless eyes and says
I’m nobody’s merciful God! Give me
either branch and I’ll spare the rest . . .
. . . at least until next year
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