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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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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