Bleeding,
on sheets
so clean
I smell the rain.
Barefoot,
at the picnic
even the serpent
is happy to see me.
Beckoned
by your smile,
flowers spill
across my skirt.
Buoyed
by your memory,
I float
upon the surface.
Episode 70 – Goodbye Iowa
I am pieces
of many things –
metal
and heat,
flesh
and dandelions,
a potion of breath
and diversity.
In grief I swelter,
sorting through lies,
confusing evil with disguise.
Parental love
imprisons, protects.
I am released
only in death,
holding tight to the silk
from your hair.
My only truth.