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
