three drips

mami cradled cherry trees

between thickets of

crimson phrases and

pointed gazes

i felt a prick

not on my skin

but in the poignant tug

of fractured needles

and an identity

sewn in clatters of

grim mumbles

two buttons

fell from the wrinkled coat

and like embroidery i

pinned them to my eye sockets

and when mami asked why

i said

i am



Leave a Reply