of a peppercorn

the beep of emory’s metal detector
off in the distance accompanied
by his and zane’s excited shouts
the book that is made of wood
and painted red and secretly houses a drawer
which is filled with the fine lines and swoops
of rolan’s handwriting
addressed and stamped and tucked inside
zinnias as tall as me as i
carefully wade through
clipping dried flowers for seed
beautiful i say several times to myself
while convincing open a tepary pod
and finding smooth small (some white
some light brown) seeds inside
how i put the autobiography of red
in the keep pile
not so much for the book
but for sledge’s inscription
which kills me perhaps more now
than it did then
i’m learning how to cry she says
and i laugh which i think she deems as dismissive
and explains i’m physically incapable
but the laugh was not dismissive
but more of an amazement/puzzlement
that in her 32 years
the number of cryings
can be counted on two hands
i want to be connected
to your wholeness
(including your brokenness) she says
while also saying
longevity, inspired by
and me in my inarticulate bumblings
taking note
beginning to grow its ears and is
the size of a peppercorn shiz saysfrom over there on peninsular ave.


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