I see you in impossible
saturation and at an incredible
distance. I’m a perennial
being holding onto an annual
bloom — you’re perfectly
short lived, came after
me and will leave before
I’m ripe again. Year
after year the edging
never grows easy — roll
the berry clockwise but
be careful not to burst
the blood before they
cluster — sweet and plucked
each day of the summer, we’re
swirled in glasses, baked
and marinated to mush
indistinguishable
from our separate greens
and blues. Then you’re gone.
I lay dormant — my
seeds from last fall planned
for this. Now there’s a gray
field in your place and I’ll force
through the surface alone.
Jarrett Adamson is a 24 year old poet living in Brooklyn, NY. They recently received their MFA in Creative Writing from The New School. They hope to publish a book of poems soon.
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