Cathexis Northwest Press

© 2018 

i’ll trade you these hearts

the night we thought you’d die, i dreamed in shades

of green. it could help, i thought, to paint you

fresh: your first words, crisp fields, a burst of rain,

each pulse a wave, each cry a blade of grass.

i gathered leaves to knit your spine to mine  

still, you ask me to go. let you rest, please.

it’s cold now, but i can’t leave. there is still

space -- i can shove my skin to the side, i 

don’t need warmth, just your breath in shapes that twist

and last like old, old tree trunks. like the one

from the brown mossed house we loved. that yard where

you’d save worms from the rain, hold them and all 

their hearts -- hold those small, wet lives in your palms.

Josephine Blair is a 27-year-old writer, who recently relocated from Miami to New York. Her work has been featured in Epiphany Magazine, Soliloquies Anthology, Meniscus, Allegory Ridge and elsewhere. In February 2019, she was awarded a fellowship with Brooklyn Poets. You can learn more about her by visiting www.josephineblair.com.