Green

Lilac bush budded tight,
not yet ready
to let go of winter,
to trust the conductor’s
flailing baton, urging it
to open to the next
movement of our quartet.
Your fist was like that,
over your sternum
as you claimed “it”
was all still there.
I snap off a twig.
Inside, the flesh
is green.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/quartet/

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