by Ava Gomez
birds build their nests
while the snow melts.
the horizon bleeds pale blue.
a man meets god on his back steps,
his hand trembles like the wind.
it’s been far too cold for april.
I walk on the newly uncovered ground,
thawed earth beneath my feet.
from the sky I hear the gunshot ring.
for a second I imagine it’s hit me,
that my heart will wane in the dirt,
my skin and bones fodder for the birds.
but I am still living despite the sound.
I’ve never known god but I feel his tremor.
when I breathe in every atom of air around me
I remember it’s no longer winter.
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Ava Gomez is from Philadelphia, PA. She can be found on Instagram @gomez.ava.