pink-bras

GIRLS

i. June comes at me like a monsoon—
I have never known a girl that isn’t a season.
And she is all of them at once:
the glow, the rubble
the strength, the bloom;
a continuous cycle of surviving.

ii. Morgan wears a bright pink bra
and dances like wildfire around my kitchen.
She smells of coffee
and freshly cut grass
and all your best days.
It’s a Sunday morning;
it’s always a Sunday morning.
She tells me
i’m in love
and i believe her every time.

iii. Max is a soft mouth
testing the curves of NO
on her tongue.
She has learnt
that nothing can be undone
but soap helps.
She is learning
the only place for a fist
is at the end of your wrist.

A.Y.