The fruit from the family tree has a pit
shaped like a heart and tough skin.
The fruit from the family tree is plentiful
but inedible. It falls to the earth and feeds
no one. The fruit from the family tree
goes straight from blossom to rot. I live
in an abandoned orchard. No one prunes
the trees but time, which has no sense
of symmetry or balance and cuts all
the healthy branches first. No one
wanders through the rows of trunks,
placing their hands on the rough bark
and speaking softly into the trees’ hearts.
The thing about family is how it isolates
you by existing and then not existing.
The thing about living in an orchard
is no one knows you are starving.