by Erik Estabrook
I recall how your eyes
always looked like a freshly bloomed tulip
that’d sprung up after much care
and the dandelions always swayed in our direction, no never the other way.
So we would walk through marshes with our dress clothes on
a rent-a-tux that had never been returned
and a dress that looked like it’d been used by a farmer.
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 