I remember the first time
I saw her barren head shine in the sun,
like the water collecting in her eyes,
saving to spill.
The pastels of the patio brightened
by light never made sense, nor
the April morning dressed in dew
that dropped to the soil as tears.
My eyes locked on the white concrete
and I imagined opening myself up,
scalping my head to remove the memory.
How could it be, that a woman
who once kept you safe begs for shelter.
How could a small hill grow into
an unstoppable volcano
bursting through a body
until all that is left are leaflets
