It started out as a feeling
Which grew into hope:
I searched in open drawers,
looked in locked-up wardrobes.
Could never find what I wanted.
I ran into the yard, stumbled upon a rose bush,
bleeding, red and coppery to my senses,
dripping on the pavement into crevices,
in warm, circular pools, coagulating,
formed, crusted, little dried up rivers.
My hope was all I had, now it's lost.
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
2 years ago