Cut open, each layer another year,
time hides in her rusting flesh cage.
Wrinkles inside, an exposé
of age from imperfect circles.
Timber swells, tower built
towards the sun. Tan breasts flush,
carnation womb blooms
at human touch, avocado
ovaries ripe, alive. Picked
by thieves, no chance to survive.
Fruits rot from the outside in,
an almost corpse cortex seeping blood,
a live wire, roots leaking time, life’s crown.
Hands flail like grass in the wind,
drying russet, catch the lace
edged leaf before it falls down.
© Caitriona Hansen