by Kelly Moore
I collect the burrs you leave behind
those clinging to my clothes scratching at my tender skin
and put them in a jar labeled with your name.
Each prickled barb, a gift from an inalienable friend.
I understand you better than you think.
I do not keep them in resentment
or to show you later how your words snagged blood from my flesh
but because they are from you.
Unlike fast fading flowers they endure- –
These burrs that stab and cling with tiny hooks, desperate for transport,
meant to repel,
instinctively protect the vulnerable seeds within.
They are you,
alive with potential.