time and season

I wrote this in May, but I feel that sense of nostalgia – of hope and loss – now, too. 

Your limbs half bare
in May
in Florida
Resisting summer
or too lazy, or
dying?

Your limbs grew wild
outstretched and crooked
in those early
days before you
really
knew
you were alive

Do you regret
  the growing over
time and season?

Do you regret bearing
children on your arms
and standing still
when storms, surely
hundreds now,
washed over you?

Perhaps it’s too
much, and too
hard
to grow back,
bring back,
all that you lost
again,
and over ag-
ain.

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