Melancholic

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 Melancholic


Do jacaranda blooms count
their Mays the way we do 
our anniversaries? Not for birthdays. 
Not for weddings. The other ones we all hold
onto in silence. Here, the day I unraveled,
uncoiled every last hinge. Here, the day I pulled
up the roots of our marriage. Here, the day I lost
the baby. Here, the day I got what I wanted. 
The jacaranda just bloom- they count nothing.
Not even the number of ways their purple blossoms punctuate the gray of our Mays. 

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