Words by Shraddha Iyer
Art by Kathy Lee
There is a peach tree in my neighbour’s backyard.
The leaves entangling
and spilling
into my backyard.
The tendrils and blossoms, pondering,
only giving
plump peaches to my backyard.
In the summer of ‘19.
Resting its bare beauty in my backyard.
Tall. Abundant. Drooping.
Strong. Home. Stooping.
It welcomes the sunny honey eaters into my backyard.
My mother makes jam standing
as mothers do and I am watching
as she turns the flushed, blushing peaches in my backyard
into a scrumptious, semi-solid slump.
She stores the seeds in a lump.
Little does she know about the stump.
There was a peach tree in my neighbour’s backyard.
Now. There is nothing.
Less creaking. Less everything.
The cycle is broken in my backyard
and I am blaming
the human race. Industrialising
and capitalising
on everything.
Dear new neighbours,
I hope you see the genuinity
in these next words. Hearty
congratulations and when you sit in your new yard, with your same old ‘exclusivity’
I hope you remember. You felled my tree.
You killed my tree.
A soul. Sole. Solitary
Peach tree.