we've been away and we've come home, and just in time for the roses, the exquisite coda of may, the closing prayer of spring. in shades of scarlet and peach, they sing their way up brownstone walls and spill over sidewalks between wrought iron posts. they speak and i pay attention.
it was two mays ago, two todays ago, that they bloomed with the news of our very own baby, and i will ever after look at them in this way: a love letter stating that i was going to be a mother. that i already was.
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