I am not a mechanism, a tool
Some structure
By which, if you employ, you may use to heal old wounds
Nor are you for me
These scars have nothing to do with you
You may not attend to them
While I hunger
While you hunger
We are not consumables
We are afire
We are to touch and be touched
While considering what time has in mind
Time for talk has passed
September, she’s a-comin’
Love large or go home
Because broken hearts
And gardening’s proof of hope
And tea makes all well
Would that all who’d seen fit
To have been unkind to me
Have their childhood wounds healed
Here, look from my window
Flower and vegetable gardens
Fruit tree and fire pit
Baseball, my love, baseball
Ode to the she-stranger, whom I never met
Yesterday, upon my knees
“Respiras,” my aura begged her
Then quietly and years ago, she-stranger did oblige
As if she wore my atoms, said for only me to hear
“You lucky, lucky girl.”
Original Thought Credit: Marty McConnell’s “FRIDA KAHLO TO MARTY McCONNELL”
Third sentence from last
Right there on page eighty-six
My mantra begins
Shaved brussels
Not yet past their prime
Fresh peas, though the ideal
Unneeded, now, to build this meal
Please pray with me
My dying wish — the miso’s not gone bad
In the refrigerator way
Kitchen shears that snip-snipped happily at chives that waited just for me
All
Summer
Long
Somehow found their way to the floor
Could be an honest omen, or
A sign of what’s to come
Not my garden’s tomatoes, fool
They’re for another day!
Please forgive the white, white rice
Devoid of what I crave
Sesame to remind me and tofu hacked haphazardly
Tamari, I wish
Here, this delicious dish
I am the tangled mess
The girl of your youth, whose eyes you dared not look deep into
And never said goodbye to
That I saw you, lovely, tangled, too
Need not have scared you
My broad understanding
Your broad shoulders
We were called
To beckon back the lightning that twisted our existence
But for your fear of me that August Thursday
But for my depth that ran too deep
And your unspoken goodbye
We’d have set our world straight
But instead
Goodbye
Tangled, tangled mess
Sweet plum
Summer’s crown jewel
Ripened
Smiling, still
Though ghosted
Chipped away at
Hollowed out
Cut in two
Bitten off, but not spit out
For I remain
Saucy
Thus, your favorite fruit
“Be done leaving,” I’ve begged Time
Stop the silence
525600 minutes, almost now
Only just this morning
Done biding for unspoken goodbyes
I threw the clock out the door
Glass heart that it has
It’ll not show it’s square-jawed face
’round my gold again
LisaRosier.com 