in a state of perpetual forgetfulness,
she uses seasons to remember how
once the weather felt, in spring,
let's say, when first her heart was broken.
it could have been five years ago,
or ten, and no one ever seems
to know what she means when
making mention of remembering
even now, as she bathes herself
in steaming hot water to let the
eucalyptus clear her swimming lungs,
even now, as the maples bloom
their final red flame of autumn,
even now, as the wind-up clock
ticks in ringing circles through her
quiet night, she can remember the
vivid moment of her next heart
break, digging like an itch in the
back of her tender throat.
First in a series. Hopefully.
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