i.
roses and roses,
that’s all you see.
you laugh at the way
the moon rises—
so romantically.
letters and
sweaters,
dreams and
cloudy streams.
you look like the sunrise—
you look like the sea.
ii.
i lost you
on a sunny day.
the clouds parted,
and you flew away.
floors of daisies
and handfuls of almonds
are all you left
behind.
iii.
leather books on shelves
keep me company.
a caged bird is singing,
begging to be free.
but i don’t think about
all that i’ve missed.
instead i stack jars
of honey against the
walls of my room.
iv.
he gave me
a basket of tangerines.
we laughed
(and i cried)
until he said goodbye.
but i wrote my
way out.
v.
i don’t think i miss
baskets of tangerines
or old, wrinkled maps
of the world.
i don’t think i miss
my thudding heart
or burning cheeks.
vi.
warm summer days
and twinkling nights
bury and burrow
themselves into
the tips of my fingers.
so i
bury
and burrow
myself into
the tips of my fingers.
i don’t climb out that often.
vii.
i kept the basket of tangerines.
i planted one
in a shed behind a house.
i know that’s not how you’re
supposed
to do it.
but i wanted to see
a tree grow out of
a whole fruit.
so i kept the basket of tangerines.