a bearded iris 
burrows deep
in winter
grips petaled quilts
tucks its entire being into a fist
and waits for the warmth 
of                  spring
to open pollen-crusted eyes.

mold grows fuzzily
leaves a film that erodes
love and 
memory
wishes to come 
backandbackandback
no matter how many times 
it                    dies.

i’m so tired of curled days 
that go by
before it’s time to unfurl again
but i don't know how to stop
this heart from
                      perennializing. 

my body forgets to flinch
when it senses a exhale of warmth
a faint knock asking to
be let in         again

you are just checking if i’m still 
breathing but
you’re here and a touch
would send me spilling into
frostbitten april mornings
without a speck of
memory to remind me
                    this will hurt.