My words break like afterbirth,
The mother trout that are dying-
We cut down trees: The entire forest is
Dead, the green is fading,
The curtains in the living room are see-through,
Diana is consumptive and shirtless-
Paper airplanes diadem her hair like half-hazard
Math equations;
I’ve been taunting her while she’s been spitting blood.
The dandelions are returning again to the cut yard,
Splaying forth like the autoeroticism of
Shameless starfish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem