• • • • • • • • • • • •
stoke the fire in the garden,
soup simmers in the pot,
twilight shade on faces,
timbre that two years forgot.
we survived a plague and
the forgetting is the cost,
I’ve learned to keep better
friends than those I've lost.
sharing smoke porch swing
belonging escaped me long
ago, time splits tannins on
twisted tongue. feels wrong
you don't know my dad’s name,
or my street beneath the moon,
you don’t know that in one year
this ends by afternoon.
so I leave the party early,
the night is dark and gone—
so I leave the party early,
there is quiet in my lungs.
• • • • • • • • • • • •
thanks 4 reading :)
/megan crayne/
