Leaning my head against the wooden fence
of the backyard plot my grandmother revived the summer before
knowing it was over
needing to push
this tiny birth and death was mine alone
I did not share
the blood soaked into the earth
where years later the wild garlic grew
below the clothesline
Love.
ReplyDeleteThis draws you back in to read it again, and again.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if I'm misinterpreting this. But gasp.
ReplyDeleteWow. And heartbreaking.
ReplyDeleteOMG. I think "visceral" may be overused, but that's the first word that popped to mind when I read this.
ReplyDelete