Blushing buds cling 
to dove-grey, bone-dry tree limbs 
as a single question ebbs 
and flows in the waters of my mind, 
‘what is my worth in another’s eyes?’ 
Does it matter if I am no longer here? 
The pink peach tree, as though  
conscious of the whirlwind  
brewing inside of me, blooms riotously. 

It is a question that bothers me, as  
a Poet, as a lady who doesn’t conform  
to the rules of society,  
I’d rather be versatile as the sky, 
drift high across the sea  
and whisper to the sun and moon, 
they have wisdom which none other can  
compare to– the pink peach tree continues  
to swirl in the wind. 

It is the loveliest peach in the orchard 
and yet, there is a sadness to it, 
its petals are more white 
than they are pink, if you observe closely, 
and it towers boldly, 
regardless of the scent of death in the air, 
I wonder, if she decorates wounds, 
absorbs the anguish  
of those who lie under her shade 
until the sun has slipped below the horizon. 
Can she handle its weight? 

The world turns quiet, as night falls; 
the question burns but is somehow placed 
into the furthest corner of my mind, 
in its stead, is an image intense, 
if I could describe the emotion  
that has me in its clutches, I would–  
but for now, I leave you,  
dear reader, with a question of my own, 
it’s the only way  
to empty the mind of its noise, 
‘what do you see in the pink peach tree?’ 






Photo credits: The Pink Peach Tree by Vincent Van Gogh, (1888), oil on canvas, Pinterest. 

Melissa hosts at dVerse where she invites us to select a piece of artwork and
write an ekphrastic poem. Come join us! ❤️

Posted for Poetics: Haunted @dVerse Poets Pub