Make me up of sun bleached love
Of leaves, casualties
Of battling winter winds
Make me up of the hope they buried six feet below the earth’s mutilated skin
make me up of the heart wrenching, gut trenches that silence the voices in our heads and send shivers that bleed into our bones and seep our beds
make me up if the ebbing tides beyond our consciousness laden with broken glass and piercing smiles and open arms
Make me up of broken windows
Burning willows
And the chipped yellow paint on the rusting swing sets in your back yard
Sew me up with gentle hands and tell me of the memories and the rivers of us
Convince me that if my insides could speak they wouldn’t scream.