I’m not sure I could

I’m young, 7 or 8 maybe, and testing the resilience

of juniper berry skin with one glitter-crusted fingernail.

just as I manage to crop all of the little horns off

of a handful of the powder-blue pebbles, the smell of their blood

still stinging my nose, a frisbee-full of shredded leaves and grasses

is thrust into my arms. I drop the berries, and they scatter

so I put down the dish of mutilated flora and kneel in the dirt

to collect back my carefully-pruned treasures. He yells at me to move faster

and 6 years later

I pour my blood out

over memories of that day


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