The summer that:
we went tumbling down the Pemi
more times than I can count,
found comfort in charity bread,
spoke of our future
like we were picking
out constellations —
as if the future held
some magic, a way
to keep the thoughts of
the bottom falling out
held at bay.
When all of the jobs
dried-up, you
helped me sew together
the pieces of my broken spirit.
Having faith in your own
words, in us.
Previously published in The Linnet’s Wings 2012