I’m looking at your heart
not staring at your breasts
Long ago I built a wall
of smooth boulders
without mortar
on a hillside
daring gravity
to find flaws
Moss and lichen
made home on stone
while seed settled
into niche
Roots tumble rocks
with their quiet strength
like the power
of milk
Grandchildren scramble
from your chest
and we laugh
…..
First published in Rat’s Ass Review
Thank you editor Roderick Bates.
Photo by Dariia Lemesheva
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