At a rest stop in Washington
I find
wisteria pods

empty, curled, leather brown
strewn in grass like snakes
their skin embalmed egyptians
sucked of life, except for seeds
shaking, brittle rattles

the rain isbeating
shaking this car
pressing at highway speed
against wind

dry inside, I search for colors
seeded beneath blankets of grey

will I find you
in a rest home in Washington
brittle skin, memories lost
time sucking you away

can I hold you like the flowers I offer
colors against Room 35 grey

  • Fiona Marion



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