Angels drink Busch from hand-painted flowered china by Brianne Grothe

Cry for you when they’ve spoken too
harshly the night before

Their lungs are dark and tied up with
maroon ribbon that
makes their voices high and husky

Their sides bear scintillating scars
where they burned as a
small child

They make a habit of calling you
sweetheart when
you’re in trouble

Forget your ice-picked skin
and your sins
after just four months of
calling you

And always, always
rise up
no matter how many times
they fall…


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