She holds a flower,
listening only to the small petals.
They’ve all come outside
to see the purple. There are not
girls yet, only desire.
Later I will lie in the yard,
dreaming of my own happiness.
To join them
he has even put aside his crutches
like the traces of those miracles
we saw at the church on the hill,
rows and rows of crutches.
Now it is their struggle
to walk away.
Copyright © 2018 by Olena Jennings.
