Self-Portrait as Garden
                                                                                                                       by Katelyn Rivas
In my hair, the fruit from yesterday’s seed,          I have never felt this way before, both born
Eternal golden globes in harvest                             & won but not in the way that someone dies.
Because of her bravery,                                              There is a story of buried, stone fruit, glory
I can feast on the juice                                                within me & it was in season, purple flesh,
Somewhere there is a garden                                     for the remedy to pain. Your mother planted 
During this whole life, as I dug deep inside          you for a reason. & you almost found her.
To reach the green thing                                            in the winter, offer the blessing of water.
That fires up wild palms in the desert                    when days grow long, you can stretch roots
Into darkness, the mystic black within you, and thrust the fruit into light, bathe in it over & over

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