Baskets

When my basket is empty

I can’t remember your face or your scent

But I’ve noticed

When I begin to fill my basket with all the things you couldn’t give

It’s only then I’m reminded of your presence

The feeling of being hunted is disturbing

Imagine building your blocks in silence

Developing the courage to bloom

Praying to God to keep you in one piece

And the moment you lay down you can feel Blackbeard watching you while you sleep

When the sun rises and I’ve returned to my basket

Just like insects and parasites to a garden

You’ve picked the best of my harvest

And left me with nothing but the crumbs you couldn’t finish after replenishing yourself

I really hate baskets, I need a safe.