Brooke Miller
the seed
There is silence when you don’t expect it.
Your fingertips run along a bare windowsill as you sit
on an unfurnished floor in your mom’s old jeans.
Wait for the honk of the taxi,
for your mother to call,
to be asked if you’ve broken a nail by hauling a couch
up four flights of stairs.
You’ve been waiting so long,
you forget that the ten month mark without her
is in two weeks.
Stare at the woman selling peonies below your Fort Greene apartment,
silently stretching out hands with cut stems to passersby.
You both feel buried under New York’s summer soil.
the sprout
A white duvet is unmade on your mattress,
which sits on the floor.
You wanted big windows.
The rays are most strong in your bedroom and they wake you,
unwantedly.
Discover that showering while listening to Mariella by Khruangbin
makes you want to pour two glasses of orange juice.
Let them sit on the counter.
As if you're expecting someone to walk through your door –
maybe your mom or dad or friend in California.
But you don't go back to California.
Only when you want to search through your parents wedding book.
Take another shower to distract yourself from the fact that
you're the only one drinking.
the fallen petal
Succumb to home videos that your mom took of you and your dad.
Your mattress is still the only piece of furniture in this place,
and you're starting to imagine a stain on the duvet.
Your fingernails are creating creases in your palms.
It is 7 PM and you haven't eaten since last night.
Swallow your sobs and kneel on your pillow to see the peony lady
sitting with her sleeping daughter on her lap.
the watering
Go –
Go outside of these four white walls.
Bring your key, your phone, and the book your mom gave you before she died.
Don't run your fingers over the bumps of her handwriting.
Go to where other people are, too, alone.
Don't think about their parents being home.
Don't think about them planning barbeques
on their Greenwich Village rooftops.
Get in a summer dress that hangs below your knees,
take a 50-minute subway ride alone to Central Park,
and read in Sheeps Meadow.
the rebloom
Realize that being alone in New York City
makes you feel stagnant,
with an empty apartment,
cellphone,
closet.
But you’re here despite it all.
And you can breathe and make it yours.
Find a way to not hide in the back booth of a restaurant when eating alone,
but whatever you do
don't seek empty company;
buy peonies from the lady below.
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