She says she’s moving.
                                      I feel sick and I’m reminded
of how my brother outgrew my hand me downs.
I still haven’t washed the tea cups since the last time
                       she was here
                                              and now she’s leaving.

Contrary to my feelings,
being outgrown can be something
overgrown.
When was the last time
I complained about
my garden being overgrown?    

She says she’s moving.
                                      I feel relief and I’m reminded
of my brother rooting through the three foot dill weeds
and coming out with potatoes, squash, and the seasons last
                             starved tomatoes;
                                                       ­   I’m ready for the new season.

My eyes are drawn toward your toes
as frequently as lover’s eyes
do meet and tie their souls in knots.

Your toes that grasp and stretch and lift
you up to reach the chocolate chips
you keep behind the chia seeds.

Your toes that press and push and dig
into dirt and earth then sheets at 3
when warm air beckons— take a nap

my eyes are drawn toward your toes
and glide over freckled skin that makes
me scramble after memories,

past parted lips and perfect cheeks
to lurid pools of cerulean
that find us back in bed by noon.