cycles by. Andrea (15, California)

the ocean calls out my name in its hushed song; the waves 
breaking and bending over crested shore to return to primordial origin, while i return
again to the look on your face as i grasped for what was left of my skin and bones; rotting,
​all rotting away; rotting to begin anew, like fertilizer in overgrown soil; the bone-dry dirt

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cutting away the space in the garden where you grew tomatoes in the spring; and then it
is spring again and again, and then i can only remember springs, and then summer comes
and i forget once more; a loosely repeated cycle, a washing machine on repeat, tumble the
​clothes through time until you grow dizzy and grow old and forget;