Poetry
What To Do About The Olive
lurching out / from the split wooden pot we thought / would contain it
Where We Came From
Your home in my chest became / the imaginary world beneath / childhood blankets / I tucked myself away in.
lurching out / from the split wooden pot we thought / would contain it
Your home in my chest became / the imaginary world beneath / childhood blankets / I tucked myself away in.
New green stems didn’t snap away, / they bent soft like a baby's arms