i had fun
splitting the rings
amongst your ruins,
all dayglow
& all-heart lips
glistering over two different cans
of coffee, your fingers
like sandlewood
in my morning bath.
i love you
because everything is quiet.
i remember you
because everything has a sound,
like the sparrow knows
of the the broken feather
beneath the roses,
of the bent grass
where the wolf sleeps,
dreaming of blood
in innocence.
& i find stillness
in the easter
of the sunrise.
these leaves
have been my blanket
since, from the split plum
of your lost eye,
you gave birth
to the other part of me,
the part that remembers sleeping
in the creek.
all of this
goes back to my childhood,
before i met you
& before i knew of anything
outside of incects
or stealing my uncles'
homemade wine.
it took me so many years
to ever see the ocean,
to ever even notice
that i was getting older
than i should.
i remember this hurricane
when i was four years old.
afterwards, i stood
where my house
had once stood.
i could say that it was the first time
that i understood emptiness,
but it wouldn't be true.
but it was the first time
that i realized that the wind
could carry me away.
i think children are more poetic
in the rain. |
Submission Name: sleeping in the creek
