I remember sunflowers inside out. Ripened roots accompanied by leaves and
the leaving.
“And how are you doing?” I want to say that I am not doing. I want
to say that I am existing; instead, I just exist. Like things just happen.
I exist the way you remember to breathe – out of habit.
on birthdays,
i’m afraid to let balloons drift too far away from my palm
of fear they’ll lose their shape.