my write hand
i lost you in the spring
- May 17 -
in may, i learned this truth:
i bloom, not to offer
what’s left of you
to a warm wind
like the frosted ashes of a term’s casualty,
but to feed
what last winter
has made bare.
like a sprout
heaving the cold
from its limbs,
it is also my birthright to bud.
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