to become again

I wrap the word


around my

body like a

blanket; soft and

soothing against my

skin and memories

all red

and raw


the apathy of flower picking

this summer I

watched the way you kept

picking roses and pricking

your fingers

on the thorns and

my arms held themselves

open for the tears you

shed but now


am the one

picking roses and pricking

my fingers and through my

tears I see

your arms crossed

in front of you.