The Mangrove

A surrealism poem

The mangrove's murmurs tremble
through taproots embracing
pipes that hiss her voice.


The water whistled words
her tongue fought to concede
from fear of her husband's taunts.


She was his lover
and his slave.
His keeper
and his hostage.


Her mind confined, her feelings caged.
Eyes tender, brain devoted
but her soul
severed by his crumpled lips
and fists that crack the captive
quarrel her voice lacks.


Buried by branches that bark
as they cradle her carcass
and soil steeps her cheeks.


Her sounds haunt his
hollow head
bringing quakes of her
quiver that tremble the tile
of his fruitless house


as the roots
caress a heart
burdened by love.