Barren

they say
delicate flowers need to be
crushed
but look!
the garden is already dead.
mother’s milk
dries
skeleton embraces skeleton.
i want
to water you with words
again, I ache
as you slide from my body.
i envy those
able to pull off their skin
like a sweaty shirt.
in these weeds
i find you
cradling tiny bones
dust inside your womb,
dandelions dancing
as you blow me
away

 

-Claire Fitzpatrick