cattails in a bag, carried home on my back

best eaten in the winter, & we’re ten weeks

from the last frost, & the coming on of weeks

& weeks where vaccinations become

engagement rings, become christmas in spring,

become brushed hair & earrings & dinners

outside where i can see you


i can see you now, still, when i close my eyes

& hear your voice through the phone, remembering

how you make me laugh, hanging my feet

out the window, like it wasn’t just a year ago,

eating grapes on the porch steps, putting

crushed beer cans in the mailbox, or

talking grit from the backseat of your car


lunaria in a manila envelope & nightshade

from the dumpster; cockscomb in an altoid tin,

& the decision to stay through summer

& the voracious need to start a garden,

& the ache to be outside alone

& the dream to be inside this body

like i am inside this body


the dog, pissing on the hardwood doesn’t have a name,

& even if no name comes, there will be tomatoes,

& this summer the only fear i will have

is how i will keep track of all the vegetables

& flowers, seedlings in egg cartons,

tugging at my shoestrings, & what light

will i bury them in


all winter, i walked under a murder of crows,

crossing the bridge after work & a week of

single digit weather; when this city spends

over half the year in gray, the crows

taking my breath against the blue sky,

only half knowing the summer will take

the tens of thousands of them away


then, when the dog stops barking,

when the crows stop coming,

how will you know

i am almost home


Danica Depenhart

Danica Dagenhart is a Pittsburgh-based writer, maker, & educator. they are a recipient of The Alex Rowan Award for poetry writing, & their work has been featured in TriQuarterly and Pretty Owl Poetry. you can find them on Instagram @motherweather.

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