NOTES STITCHED SAFELY INTO THE LINING OF GRANDMOTHER’S BEST SHAWL
I know about what hangs on the other side
of fifteen. I know about the day we picked clean
that apple tree and about skin gone shriveled
from too much dirty rain. I know about midnights in July
from beneath the raspberry bushes.
I know about what we cannot repair,
about glass set to the inside of a wrist, about the hour
you threw your arms out and gave up.
I know about the whispered everything.