Tessa Rumsey



April Fools

Inside the pale niagra of her cruel betrayal: a paper boat, not.
Afloat; but not sinking into the azure ether either—sailing.
The way a lost faith sails, limp and broken, but somewhere.
Still believing, it may be, you said to me, that we are not.
Yet built or sufficiently enlightened to do the thing we must.
Forgive her. Late winter: frozen cherries / atop a new parable.
Of my wicked stepmother. We are cherry blossoms caught.
Inside the static loop of loss. It's spring again—She leaves us.
You say the word again, forgiveness, holding your split heart.
In your hands, a frozen boat. Paper blossom. Olive branch.

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