All things now remind me of what love used to be. Swollen cattails in lonely
places. Gluey conditioner in my hair. Firm books. Their variegated spines.
Swirl of words like a stirred cocktail, whirled umbilicus, pulsing asterisk.
The past is this: to have been young and desirous and to be those things
no more.
Diane Seuss
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/16/magazine/poem-all-things-now-remind-me.html
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Weeds, by Diane Seuss