The bud knows at its heart
there's time to crack open, to what the wind brings
pollen has to bleed,
the arms have to shake
and petals,fall on little girls' hair
before the birth of almonds
Like buds, I celebrate
cracking open to years winding
carrying with them pollen, whiffs of other people
it is the petals that do not shake in me
they change color with severe weather but fail to fall
on nicely combed pigtails, they refuse to hide in the corner of braids
I am stubborn, I know-
too hard for my own good but at least
my almond comes
at its own pace, with a different taste:
sweet when let to cool with the grazing sunshine
bitter when squeezed out of me.
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