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.