Four letters were
Carved into the trunk of the elm
A scraggly, narrow heart
Closed around them like a cupped palm
Other calligraphy seems to blossom
When the sun
Shines on the page
And soaks in each teardrop
Of rain
I slam the weeping door,
Barefoot walk across
The grass
To the trunk of the elm
Until the old promise seems
Like a statistic
When a couple became a crowd
When the letters spread
Into a page
(c) Caitlin C.
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