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All the flowers that you planted mama In the back yard All died when you went away
Spring is always exciting and strange, the way the winter air mixes with the promise of life without chapped skin and hunched shoulders. Each day I wake like the daffodils, unsure if these final frosts will kill me before we can make it to the other side.
But we are determined, both lingering long after my mother grew us. Delicate. Resilient.