You were thankless among the lily eaters

A contemporary poem from E.B. Johnson.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

a little less encapsulated in a pot of folded gold.

knife’s edge; grateful not to be knife-edged out
of your cold embrace. like the last time you fell

down and the gutter embraced you like the soil
and the loam. sweet mother. dead mother. tuck

me and hold me out into the cold like an unopen-
ed piece of your dissected dichotom…