Who I was

My cinnamon ghost

Hair lemon and sun bleached

Skin suntanned

Heart sunburnt

If she were to materialize

I would mourn that the world is not as her

Mud brown eyes see it

And her skin never felt clean

Again after he touched it

But that she treasures the feel

Of garden soil under her nails

Though always seemed cruel to

Pluck out weeds

Learning how to eat the dandelions

That pester dignified tomatoes

His ghosts of fingerprints

I bury in the dirt

(still learning ~ feedback welcome)

(also available on tiktok and pinterest @ anna.zera.poetry)