Photo by Taylor Burnfield on Unsplash
The evergreens sport dead boughs from the ground up.
I wonder if there’s any saving them.
In my mind, I prune the spruces,
Plucking dusty needles off brittle arms.
You cannot snag me anymore.
No grabbing.
I close my eyes;
The windows are collecting rain.
I dream of cherry blossoms
As my breath fogs up the glass.
About the Creator
Harbor Benassa
I carry a piece of the things that I love wherever I go. I love short fiction, chocolate ganache, forensic science, and, aptly, the water.
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Comments (1)
This was so poignant and beautifully written. Loved your poem!