July

Fireworks lit the sky
Laced with little lies,
I’m too dry-eyed to cry
Contemplating good-byes.

Are you still mad at me?

~N.

It is hanging on, uprooted and replanted for a third time. I am like this vine, with the appearance of being half dead deceptive. Life still flows through the dried out twigs, follow the path to green leaves and blooms.

The plant went to my sister’s in Salem, Ohio, when I moved into a high rise apartment building without any outdoor space of my own in Youngstown. She later moved to Michigan, left the plant with her son. Then my mother dug it up and brought it up after I bought a house on the south side. The vet helped her plant it near the concrete angel that, I assume, marks the grave of an unknown pet. And it is, despite appearance, hanging on… still alive.

I’ve yet to plant Mr. Marsberry, his ashes still in a can.

The clock ticks. Thanks for reading.

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