Brendan Payraudeau

Chokecherry

last time I saw you
we sat on the back porch
feet on the rail
passing a bottle

you pointed to the spot
where your dog was buried
we tried to spit cherry pits
over the distance

I should get rid of it all
the tiny gravity
between our fingers
a cicada husk littering the lamp 

I should be cracking my knuckles
shaking out my hands
another bottle another burial
another burial another burial

another
another
sunrise
waiting underground

roots are growing outside me
there’s a weight that’s left my mouth
I carried and let go

every night I dream of splitting open 

releasing a small spur
of bone to burrow
to claw forward
dig some other dark 

join a faith
in the patience
of dirt without me

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Brendan Payraudeau is a poet and special education teacher based in Summit, New Jersey. When not writing or teaching, he spends time brushing up on reptile husbandry. He has previously been published in Rust & Moth (Summer 2025).