by Candice Kelsey
You were chlorophyll thick coiled garden shells
as days we share slice themselves thin
revealing true colors honey-curled days now
terrible wild carmine shorter and shorter
I take the encore and deep flowering
forth into sweet autumn until I close off
these veins and shed one plush bed, humus
dark, organic matter mother I am daughter
a decaying pile of twigs who dreams to protect
my mysterious self and never again
succumbing to your overbearing sugar waltz
Candice M. Kelsey [she/her] is a writer and educator living in Los Angeles and Georgia. Often anchored in the seemingly quotidian, her work explores the intersections of place, body, and belonging; she has been featured in SWWIM, The Laurel Review, Poet Lore, Passengers Journal, and About Place among others. Candice mentors an incarcerated writer through PEN America and reads for The Los Angeles Review. Her comfort-character is Jessica Fletcher. Please find her @Feed_Me_Poetry and https://www.candicemkelseypoet.com/.
Emerge Literary Journal 