American Culture · American Literature · Art · Contemporary · Online Journal · Online Magazine · Poetry · Quarterly

Tasha Cotter

When I die, I’ll come back
            an oakleaf hydrangea—
Something bigger
            than I was when we began.
When you die
            I want you to be a boy
so I can take you in
            on some decrepit path
pretending the wind running through
            somehow belongs to you.
When you bury me
            watch out: I’ll spread.
And you’ll recognize my autumnal red
            psychic flames burning
near your split rail fence.
            I was what you chose to plant
to absorb the emptiness
            left from other things.

—Tasha Cotter, “Hydrangea,” Dialogist: Quartertly Poetry & Art (v.1, no. 3)

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