we are snow pushed to the side,
wrinkled blueberries clinging to
our tiny vine.
we’re still looking. we tear out
the hems of favorite dresses.
unravel the carpet. maybe
that floorboard shakes loose.
look between the rings of
my tree. they are worthy
of belief.
all the beauty I owned sparked
at the curled ends of my hair.
I cut it off, grew greys like
lightning.
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