Guava tree

Guava tree
By the empty chicken coop
Peeking through a stack
Of rust eaten cages,
I push my palms to the trunk.
We remember Uncle Andy
Sitting under it, stitching up
The slashed belly of a
Quiet rooster, immersed
In the sweet stink of
Rotten guavas and chicken s**t,
Smashed together in the dirt.
Now, I pull a ripe Guava
From a hesitant branch
The tang of childhood
Runs sticky down my chin