{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