Cotton

It found me like

cotton on the air.

Like seeds from a

black poplar tree

Streaming in

on sunlight.

Running through

my eyes into my bones.

And I can break

my hands over it

the way you break the earth for planting.

I can run rafters

to the edges of things,

Like my hands were made to do that.

But

Wherever I go and

whatever lines I cross,

I will always also be there

carrying them.

 

By Sarah Citrin

Follow her instagram @Millie.St.Waters

 

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