there was a day i thought you mine
when i extended a hand to pull you in
from the bones and bows that cornered you
in the cherry groves, to myself i said this,
this is what we are made of / dirt and flowers
leaves and wood chopped to pieces
and carved for a home / we deforest, we
harvest, we dig and dig into the earth
until the earth says no more and spits back
molten against the shields we created /
because one day i had the audacity
to think you mine, to bring you home
in a little pocket, in a little pot made from
clay and place you on the windowsill
to grow in sunlight that was never made
for you / you, who should have been buried
in the lands where your roots were severed
and snapped, torn to shreds and never
replanted and watered like once was promised.
K.S. Baron is a poetry editor at Last Leaves Magazine and a hobby-driven digital artist. Her work has previously appeared in Capsule Stories, Havik Poetry, Burnt Pine Magazine, and others. She has a soft spot for sharp things (like cats and cacti) and finds herself drawn to the moon.
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