Like broken pottery, fondly I think of you Annika Rennaker
Fractured as the Mississippi Delta like thread unraveled, emotionally well-traveled she fell apart in him— Pottery broken, but he was an artist and when she cried tears of gold, he gathered them up and used them to fill in all of her scars. And in her skin’s porcelain canyons gilded rivers flowed and when the light touched her just so, she shone Brightly like the bond between two lovers leaning on one another, so heavily, but with brevity. Together they etched patterns into her sides to remind her the laws of entropy do not mean: “the end of me”
American Literary Magazine | 56