“Avulsion: a forcible separation or detachment such as a tearing away of a body part accidentally or surgically.”
—Merriam Webster Dictionary
The walnut clings to yellow leaves despite
the snow falling. Already fallen. I miss
you like the void where once a molar stood,
the edges defined by the tip of my tongue—
the ache long-healed, still emptiness remains.
The boughs of the walnut bow to starlight.
Branches, snow burdened, curve to the ground and snap.
Downtown lights reach
like the arms of my mother
across the wide, muddy Missouri.
Beneath blossoming dogwoods,
water roils past. I yearn to wade
into the rushing river, slick mud
beneath my feet, slip
into my mother’s embrace.
Ariel Diaz graduated in 2008 from UMKC with a degree in English. She recently moved to Independence Missouri with her husband and cats. She works in a landfill where she weighs trucks, watches Netflix, and writes. Ariel was first published in 2018 by Dos Gatos Press, Mojave River Review and Press, and UMKC’s special Number 1 magazine issue honoring the late Michelle Boisseau.