In the garden,
she would sit for hours combing her hair
praying that spring would bloom again inside her.
The weight of winter
compressing her bones into sedimentary rock.
She could make a home for herself there beneath the Daffodils
and use snail shells to frame the doors and windows
of her house made of broken clay and glass.
When it rained, she would lose her ankles in the mud
and confess she could feel the Earth's heartbeat with toes wiggling.
she would close her eyes and hum, tangling
her fingers with tree roots. By morning, she would be covered
with dead leaves and the cocoons of caterpillars
who grew tired of their homes.
So they changed their shape and moved to a safer place
to raise their children.
After years of growing out her hair,
and trading secret with Evergreens,
she felt the soil had finally betrayed her.
Promising a Summer filled with young l