Poem 19 of 30

Honey flow season is upon us.

Dandelions bob their yellow heads in the breeze.

The blackbirds chitter and click their petty songs.

Plant sex is just killing your eyes and throat as you note:

She cares for you no longer

And has made space to mourn other things.

This is clear as you count the things successfully returned from their deaths and she is not among them.

© 2018 by Miya Upshur Williams

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