Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Where the Azaleas Bloomed

I used to smell the fresh intent
in the earthy scent of the rain
just before the Azaleas bloomed

but I don’t belong there now
where the Azaleas bloom
not even to the greenish grass
of powdered cheeks
with the early morning dew

for I have mutated into a place
where I lose air slowly and
where palms tear their fronds
into ribbons, mirroring my heart




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Prompt: April 6 -- bloom