i.

listen to plantasia

on the first day of winter.

if you can find a warm core under

layers of frost, powder white,

and see where a seed would grow,

then i think i could trust you.

we were cold some days

and if my fingers trailed along your arm’s length

you’d kept me at bay.

ii.

i own seven pairs of

hoop earrings

pinned against the wall

—ready to be called upon as arms.

curving into heart shapes and laced with beads losing their paint

(stolen, borrowed)

1 my mother’s, 2 stolen from lovers, 3 gifted by sacred friends. they stay

above smokey kohl and brick red lipstain

stealth & strength

iii.

when you look at me, i have no idea

what reflects back.

in moments i think i am the raw honey melting

in your tea and on your tongue;

in others, i am the long to-do list (take out

the trash, weed the garden, call

the doctor) which inevitably never gets done.

i might be an image of you

or of your father.

just listening to ambient sound.