Her red hair tumbles down her back,

her body strong, but her shoulders drooping

like the heavy branches of the cherry blossom

trees lining the streets outside the bar.


As her limbs tremble with the gentle thrum of the music,

her petals fall and the patrons gasp,

the pale pink of a summer blush scattered across the stage.


No one stops and asks how it feels,

losing parts of herself so often, being stripped

bare in public and applauded, viewed only for pleasure

without anyone thinking of the roots

underneath her skin starving for salvation.


No one asks because no one cares,

as long as next spring her petals are back for the world

to enjoy another show