a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

White crystals etched in 
wood, in stone, in tiny tufts 
of new grass, in me.

***

Warm air caught
in the chill
of what lies beneath.

A temporary frost.

As the warmth of day
seeps into the ground
the etchings disappear,
a bit of damp left behind
until that, too, is gone.

A pattern etched
in my heart,
the chill of fear
and shame and guilt —
and loneliness.

I breathe,
await the warmth of 
“being with,”
of trusting.

I am not alone.
I am beloved.