truce

remember when i was the last ripe strand
of nightshade vining on the porch?

remember when i was a room housing
nothing but salt & dandelion root?

remember when i was the moment
between a fire & its embers?

remember when i was a forest
of soft pines guarding a hidden lake?

remember when i was a ghost residing
in a lantern, floating in the dark?

remember when i was a pocket of stones
wading slow into the Merrimack?

remember when i was a glossary
of streetlamps & long nights?

remember when i was a glass of whiskey
poured for someone else’s forgetting?

remember when i was a shade of knife
meant only for gathering wild blooms?

– lauren elma frament