"God gave us memories that we might have roses in December"
J. M. Barrie
Two days in, they gave your brain
room to breathe, and no matter
what mom said,
I always knew I'd seen the missing
crescent of your skull.
missing is the wrong word;
it sat on the bedside table
at the bottom of a mason jar,
some child's mischievous grin,
a narrow, bitten moon resting
nonchalantly against the glass,
out of place
present, a slice of rind
screaming for the orange.
Prompt: I want to write about ______, but I don't know how.
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