The book
The woman keeps each season pressed into books flowers leaves rock salt always putting the outside
inside always putting the very ground she's walked on up high on a shelf then forgetting about it the
pages change and wear away as any white skyed day would a bird is pressed in the sky a feather is
pressed in the snow winter berries on bottoms of tennis shoes the book took every color she had
forgotten until now and when she opens it again its words a child would write on her drawing of a
rainbow
s.m.g.
The woman keeps each season pressed into books flowers leaves rock salt always putting the outside
inside always putting the very ground she's walked on up high on a shelf then forgetting about it the
pages change and wear away as any white skyed day would a bird is pressed in the sky a feather is
pressed in the snow winter berries on bottoms of tennis shoes the book took every color she had
forgotten until now and when she opens it again its words a child would write on her drawing of a
rainbow
s.m.g.
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