Opening Up

 

Under the tree, sitting

knee to knee while

randomly, snow petals

drift down between us.

‘How can we begin again?

After all, I don’t trust.

I have forgotten how, or…

maybe I never knew.’

While branches above blossom yearly

growth regardless of weather.

‘I guess the question is,

how badly do I

want to blossom?’

© Alicia Grimshaw 2017

“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg, from The Atlantic, March 1923

 

 

 

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