i placed stems in a cup filled with water,
set it underneath the moon, and hoped
for a leaf to grow. they have never needed
love more than a heart living on grease and
morphine before, but they are lost. they
have lost their roots from the earth and their
bones have become brittle from the fall.
the stars are flashlights for the lost spirits of the
sky. lives only wanting to return back to
the solace but are afraid of what is there to welcome
them; and though my stems are lost they have
already jumped into the caverns of that scarred stone.
i tried to drown myself once. the water caressed my heart
as i stopped breathing, but i could still hear the waves
rowing against the tabs of my spine until sand clotted
against my skin—love was etched along my body when i awoke.
the stems, the spirits, all wrote love on their bellies,
followed the stars like i followed the waves.
aimlessly. we had all heard the same thing that took
us too far. the same words that turned our bones
to ash—sometimes love is the one who’s wrong.
my bones, my roots in this earth, they tell me otherwise!