Dana Knott (she/her) has recent publications in Dust Poetry Magazine, Eunoia Review, and Musing Publications. She enjoys the company of her favorite two humans and three cats. Dana works as a library director in Ohio and is the editor of tiny wren lit, which publishes micro-poetry. Twitter: @dana_a_knott

***

The trees in winter

I count the hours
from the day I woke
each hour a band
around my sleeve

I do not have
the patience of trees
each ring a year
a history of drought
or bad weather

I have my own bark
with your names
and your sins carved deep
you're a part of me now

You do not need
to remove woody
layers to count my rings
to read my fate
to create pages for a story

The scars are there
for you to trace
each counted hour
longer than a year

Trees never forget 
but never blame
the passing season

Let me be like a tree

***

13 down

Stop telling me I deserve to be happy.
I was born under the wrong set of stars.

Tried to answer a crossword clue—
unwelcome cloud at a picnic—

but could only guess “mushroom.”

***

Inflorescence

Did it begin overnight or relentlessly 
over years? My heart unfurls arteries
into blooms, like a corpse flower.

***

Herb garden

The potted basil grows in the kitchen window.

Its glossy green leaves graze my long hair
as I lean over the sink to rinse soapy dishes.

The sweet, fresh scent works into my scalp,
and I still smell cloves when I fall asleep.

I dream of my husband deadheading flowers
to keep the plants in perpetual bloom. All night,

my body grows toward the circle of his arms.

***

Publishing credits

The trees in winter: Exclusive to East Ridge Review
13 down: Exclusive to East Ridge Review
Inflorescence: Exclusive to East Ridge Review
Herb Garden: First published in The Hyacinth Review