there is some forest
where our bones grow
trunks larger than the sum of our dreams,
roots deeper than our family trees.
scattering leaves.
    green. you at 15.
    orange. me at 25.
    crushed into crisps.
-
what hands can
reach inside of me
to find heavy jars of blood, once
filled with honey.
-
in february, i cried and blamed it on the dust scattering.
i, too, blew away in the wind.
little pieces of me crumbling on the streets of carolina.