His mossy crotch stains the shower floor green
and the drain is clogged with wet clumps of grass.
My boy unfolds into fronds of fern as he slowly sheds
any semblance of me. I’m losing his face through bark
and branches. His hair fluffs with pollen
and his armpits secrete a nectar so cloying
his room is filled with bees. He no longer speaks,
just stares out the window, lusting for sun.
I lie and tell him I understand, that it’s natural,
but my voice is lost through miles of forest.
I don’t know what to get him for his birthday.
I place a basket beneath his outstretched arms
and together we celebrate his falling leaves.
Date: 2016
By: Armin Tolentino (19??- )
From Troubles of The World 