in-betweens

like a papaya tree
growing into the earth
instead of reaching for the stars

my fruit at the base of my trunk
for all to savour

expanding inward to
fathomless depths
wood rings and circular meanings

folding memories into pockets
like postcards
pictures of what never really happened

silent sentinel
of the forgetting of things

left behind
stored safely in a box
that will never be opened

I am within the breath of in-betweens