beaded

river

my mothers brooch
the christmas book on the shelf
the passage in the world encyclopedia
wooden strands tucked behind my ear
the bears we slid down the stairs
evening curtain drawers, I swirl my skirt

my fathers watch
the tiller in the yard
the strains of buddy holly in the night
fishing line filling out my hair
the trees I couldn’t climb
wee hour folders, I practice my tie

bushes trimmed till roots will die
for rocking chairs and counters
flowers plucked for potpourri
deserts dry stems to sliced paper

roots and leaves make wicker baskets
time and you make me
showers come, we reappear
you and time make me

about the author

River (they/them) is a queer poet. They have fabulously queer children and a cat who does all the magnificently cat things that cats do.