I almost cried today
talking to my mother
laying brittle words like
autumn leaves in front of her
Every leaf a layer off the branch
of my onion exterior, sappy
interior, nothing left to hide
nothing stable inside
I’m telling you this because
here my words stick together
virescent, safe, graceful
but when I talked
with my mother
the earth spun like dreidels
and the words changed color
and some fell slowly
others crumbled, forever
walking back to my room
I feel the cold, familiar breeze
for the first time
in a long time
