< Issue 1 >
Seasons
by Amani Breanna Alexander
Spring breaches and consults
Flowers abide by the testaments
Of the wind
They sit,
And fold into the hands of little girls
Born into snowmen
That melt before their first birthday
Spring is birthday and present enough
For the lot of us.
It teaches us the beauty
Of being bright,
Soft, and dainty
It’s fluorescent and human.
Fall is ground and tangible enough
To lay in.
The trees all look like skeletal hands
Reaching.
If you’ve ever fallen in love with him;
Fall is man and bosom enough
For the lot of us.
He is waiting
Open armed and windy tongued
Offering a plethora of handshakes
And bedtime stories;
Whistled harmonies
For when the creases of your bed
Aren’t tucked like slumber should be.
Winter is the split of her mouth.
The abyss of the women that’s never known
Of being held.
The shiver of absence
Births frost bitten babies
That praise on oven tops
And fireplaces.
No one’s more bundled than this.
It takes the absence of heat
For us to find it in ourselves.
It takes the absence of everything
For us to find it in ourselves.
The lot of us
Don’t know absence.
Most don’t know themselves.
Have no lost and found there.
Just stuffing paper and cotton.
Summer,
Is over compensation.
The man that knows better than to come home
Without flowers, apologies,
And momentary promises.
He is going to hold you
Until you burn.
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