the morning is a spring cerulean

the baby twists, he is still sleeping in

my sister smelled of Johnson’s powder

chestnut swirl, coffee cold on the counter

I’d never chosen to carry someone

 

tiny clothes hang, hold space for a son

when he is two, his hair’s white in the sun

and Mom counts her coins, stretches the dollar

the morning is a spring cerulean

 

regret can eat you, leave your bones clean

we say ‘squeeze, squeeze’, skin our knees when we run

then they are tall, hug someone else harder

and you are proud, but quiet in a corner

years are dice, doesn’t matter what’s chosen

the mourning is a spring cerulean