Neha Bansal

You sat at your desk,

your spine a bare trellis

beneath a cotton sky.

I watered it

with the rain of my tears,

warmed it

with the sunlight of my eyes,

hoping that one day

courage would climb it

like a vine,

self-belief would leaf along it,

and flowers would bloom

from every vertebra—

until you stood,

no longer merely possessing a spine,

but blooming one.