I wish I knew
how to unremember your words,
the harshness,
the way they still sit
heavy on my tongue.
Like an inner monologue
I repeat
the same
sentences—longing
to soothe these chapped lips,
open-mouthed
aching for rain.
Water pours over these dry roots,
new words, new hands
cradling my shriveled heart
like a treasure under the falls.
But I am a desert plant—
there is no healing in drowning.
