I do remember the you of long nights
fuller hair breathy words,
motherly incantations.
At the teat, obeyed its rhythm until
like my first kick, stretching the stomach lining
I spoke. Long dry at their cusp,
my lips breathed their own life.
Still weighed with wet earth,
drifted from winter to spring days
hair flyaways white laces Streaming —-
an untameable-robed-in-rough-overalls
creature (shirtless, sun on its back).
Inkling of rebirth called like the late-night
“Dinner! Wash the mud out your nails”.
Watered with pithy drops of soul,
I spit. Turn to a dried maroon prune.
Snatch the blossom from your cheeks.
Bury my toes deep deep deep
in the garden bed:
(Seedy little things, remind you of my infant hand).
Lament the days lost
in misunderstanding.
Each garden whim rode
between my summer scales, yet
I shed them for flight.
If only I knew my wings are in the time capsule
that you long to give me,
grounded in your earth with
hand-me-down tales,
colossus shoes to grow into,
and motherly love like a well.
We cry dry tears,
leave our throats like
filaments of ancient fireflies in a jar.
I do love you
and always will, so
let the seasons cycle back again.