August 21, 2022

august first * poems about grief and death

August first: this is the first time in nine years that I am not sad on her birthday.
you and I are standing under a summer storm
the desert kind that don’t come often enough, but when they do they come hard and fast
and I like that you have your arm around me like that photo of us under the avocado tree
and that you don’t mind that I’m standing outside in nothing but my underwear, bare feet, and a green t-shirt that says
(this is one of my best)