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 and Moth (Summer 2025).