count til 9 months have passed and then it’ll be spring and pretend this didn’t matter, pretend this was nothing not an end of the big dream and how soon never came and a future promised never got here
there is still this corner I wanted to show you where the vines grow, a corner I wanted to be ours there is this park bench with words I wanted to say
the trauma of words stuck in the tissues of my throat
there is air in these lungs left over from stolen days lines waiting to be redrawn

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admin & queen at Hermana Resist Press
Noemi is a sirena, poet-curandera living in South Texas. A writer, cultural critic and historian, she enjoys paints, gesso, tattoos and eating.

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