as delicate as dandelion seeds

heaving & falling in florida air,

lining the cement sidewalk rolled out

to your emerald green condo.

sometimes guarded by snakes 

that squiggle across as we crunch

dried crabgrass under worn-down sandals

.

still, our time was violently plucked

.

the first thing i do is cry the morning of

every birthday that passes.

you always remembered by heart,

the first person breathing 

on the other line

.

i’m missing you extra tonight.

your rosary lies gently in between the curves of my chest.

i think it’s because mom tapped her knuckles

on the dinner table tonight

the same way you used to,

no particular rhythm but strong

(3/18/21)