Rot

by Kate Genevieve

Midday and I’ve yet to wash.

The lemons give me no respite,

and I’m sick of the garden fountain
bubbling incessantly.

I’d much prefer an old
stone bath, cracked and filled
with fat brown robins.

Every apricot
I’ve ever known lied, so

I line them up on my windowsill
with bird bones:

pits and skulls rolling
onto their sides.

I watch
their pulp soften in the sunlight.
Here is my favourite drama—

how everything alive turns putrid.

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ABOUT THE CREATOR

Kate Genevieve is a teacher and writer born and raised in Vancouver, Canada. She is a recent graduate of the University of Edinburgh, where she completed her masters degree in creative writing. She can be found on twitter @kategenpoetry or on instagram @kate_genevieve.

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