The Sleeping Season

Well the summer snuck up again
So she went to sleep.
And I couldn’t tell
If it was the shadow
Cast by new-leafed trees
Or the controlled burn
That made everything so black
Around her.

It grew too fast for cutting
So I just lost myself
In that grass
As it waved in the wind.
Found a cool dry patch
And lay my body down
To wait for sunlight’s
Creeping tendrils
To set me on fire,
Or for the carrion-eaters
To rise up again
And carry me below.

I wielded the shovel,
The blade —
But no matter how many cuts
Were made,
I could not beat it back.
Pulled it from the ground
But the roots just ran around
‘Til the damn thing choked
Under witch-weight grass.

The thunder threatened
But rain never came,
So parched
I lapped at the dew
Until it too got lost
In the heat.

Then I buried her in cloud petals
Licked the sweat from my upper lip
And sat to wait in the dark.
Listened to the nightcrawlers
Making tunnels for her dreams
While the moths were finding
And I —
I lit the watch fire.
And looked for her
To come back to me


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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