Superbloom

& we are so March-bred:
peonies bright & foaming at the mouth.
Nothing blooms anymore.
I swallow a water-logged prayer,
heat-choked & luffing.
You find me shipwrecked:
salt-scoured nails. Ten-paged litany.
Dressing myself in eulogies
like I’m something impermeable.
Now, even Father collapses:
I straddle the shore,
find sickness in a land
-locked field. Pale & learning
how to outpace the tide.

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