ART BY ANNICA GROTE

Beyond the concrete canals
wholly claimed by spray paint
and the rain-slick train tracks
crossing like ballpoint cursive,
wildflowers by the rails
roots held by thin dirt
mourn for wilted stems.

I once saw two girls,
legs bare, skin exposed,
knee-deep in thorns honed
by the violence of time.
Reaching through the wind,
they seek out the tender
between balmy breaths

to seize just in time
blossoms nearly decayed
to place between hair strands
hues grown from neglect
every petal a finger
unfurling for its own sake,
beauty loose at last.