Every clove’s / a cradle (Pxhere)
Your forearm-long
brown leaves flop
and I dig you up,
Roots and all
and all in all
vellum skinned
knuckle bulb
little fist
belonging
in my hand,
take me where
grandmother
reaches down—
every clove’s
a cradle
Published in the November 2020 issue: View Contents
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