I could have traced a circle around each of my cells, that day, they
made themselves known, they
still don't know the difference between love and panic
I could have drawn lines around your features to make sense of them:
your face unfamiliar without blooming borders
perhaps a map or manual
might have made us less fragile
Imagine that the floor had been dry, that day, and not
some ocean you could not cross, or
pretend, instead, we flew away lightly
on the back of my mop, like thriftstore witches
About the Creator
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The Four Seasons
Winter I’ve never been fond of winter. The sky is dull and the sounds are muffled by the snow that buries my roots. I am cold. My protection against the wind blew away in fall, leaving me exposed to the harsh pellets of hail and ice-laden winds. The only warmth I receive this time of year comes from the little family of raccoons that have burrowed by my roots; I can feel their heated fur against my bark as they sleep the day away. Farther up the tree is another family: squirrels, who have made a nest in my trunk. They spend all morning scuttering about collecting the nuts they've stashed, and at night once the raccoons have gone, they sleep, their gentle breaths lulling me into a slumber-like reverie.
By Katarina Meglic4 years ago in Earth
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