By Sara McCormick
my first love was curls
she was frost and silver and bare branches
she was hawthorn and she was stars
she pressed her bleeding palm against mine and we were joined
i did not know then that when i cut out her heart i was also carving out mine
my last love is freckles
he is copper and amber and red
he is dandelion and he is sun
where i have turned to ashes he gently rakes them into a soft bed
he gathers kindling and tinder and coal
he strikes steel to flint and breathes and breathes
i am still surrounded by curls
but they are gold and red and chestnut and red
and red and red and red
she was snowfall
she was moonlight
but he is spring
Sara McCormick is a Public Health student, activist and writer from Cleveland, Ohio. Her professional interests are in promoting queer health, preventing sexual- and genderbased violence and deconstructing systematic oppression.