April 1995

i step out of hibernation

winter loosens its blue knuckles

from around my ribs,

leaving behind the faint mineral scent

of something that almost buried me.

the last seam of frost

unbuttons itself from my skin.

i watch it rise,

not as water,

but as the memory

of being cold.

summer does not arrive.

it germinates

slowly,

through my collarbones,

through the soft cambium

of my wrists,

until even my shadow

begins photosynthesizing.