Photo by Geetanjal Khanna on Unsplash
am I something the sun can set
down like its lumbering body
or like the breeze can its dandelion name?
will I ever find myself curled back up
in a fetal position next to the clay heart
of my mother, bright handprints smudged
all over my body like art
or will I be forgotten come next spring?
tell me
will this be the last time i become rain?
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
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