On the ceiling of the examination room, a redbud reaches across the sky—fuchsia-pink ruffled arms—& I want to ask the ultrasound tech if
I watch pieces fall and blanket the ground— the layers of snowfall hide untended weeds. I wonder how it would feel to cover my
We’re losing the games we made up only to throw loose stones— that Mississippi sediment rushing and numb as the rumbling I-55 lit up