{poetry fix} oh, fig

Oh, fig

I’m bare, too,

limbs tired

from another season

of holding up

and holding on.

Even as this

lonely Sunday  crescendos

flap

faded flannel

flap,

I remember those

 colors inside us,

the bruise and

blush of summer.

The seeds we carried

still hum with hope

beneath  these November blues.

                                                                                             yvonne melania lieblein