365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty

for a moment
the leaves kick up
with the first winds of Spring
and the chains of swings
creak against their moorings-
I am struck that it is Fall
and none of this strange, hard Winter past
has really happened
and you are not once again
asking for too much.
and I am not
once again
in that scarred place
you made when we
were two that made one.

he is worth this.
you are not.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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