You are a little girl
when I'm around the corner,
but a woman - imposing & sincere
when I need to be near you,
and this sets me back a million years
into childhood and
hardened forms of my mother.
She'd scream cry then burst shatter.
"With me," she'd always say,
and I'd be so terrified, and
have to go outside
to dig holes in the garden.
But last night I cried when
I left you. Cried
water pellets of stupidity
going gone without breath without you.
I'll see you once more to dig
more holes in my head.
Not a garden.
I want want want to plant
your warm fingers behind
my cold ears and water them
in salt and shadows spent
sleeping alone on the couch.
The blue couch.
The green garden.
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