April 23 — fistfuls of sometimes
1 min readApr 23, 2020
The words came
inconsistent
but like fistfuls of sometimes
after-rain mud
after falling.
sticking to everything
running down and leaving
weighed-down
obvious marks on my skin
on my clothes on my
hair.
like trying to find
something to do, my hands
waiting on my
breath to trust my chest
before speakingand it wasn’t at the meeting
of where the hill and not-hill
in our yard
or the way your body
makes my mind
see flowersit was in your arms
when i learned that not all broken
limbs need wakes
and that not all broken
hearts.but they are always carried.
