Spindled Roses

1.

I was awake
on the morning

the fog mustered up
the courage

to contact you.

It was like moss
growing across the door

and tapping
tree limbs

combined.

2.

You stopped moving
two weeks ago.

There are things you should have said, she said—

gowns parted against
humming machines,

hazardous materials.

What is the answer to the universe,
I couldn’t tell you.

Blinded ravens
spell the sequence

of your memory.

You were all I had left.

(Broken flowers.)

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About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit www.mckenzielynntozan.com. View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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