by Emily Wolcott Murphy

Life buds before me
while cricket sounds debut
the coming out of flowered faces
pirouetting with the wind

Salt glazed to the lash,
shoulders shrug

Our first porch wooden, a fence
to dance the boundary lines clean
I keep at keeping up the lush
wetting the ground beading tears

Lungs starve for air,
chest raises

The parched twig a part of me
Canvased field brushed crimson
I keep the green growing,
busy my hands bustling dirt

Curved beneath cotton,
fingers clinch

It was she I couldn’t keep
Or she wouldn’t have,
She wouldn’t have used a gun that day
She wouldn't have left the lush

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