September

9/2/25 9:55pm

I’m cross-legged on the sidewalk and there’s a cloud that looks like my elementary school, they upgraded the busses on the north side so it matches your funeral-inspired eggplant drapes and I can’t tell anyone about it because it doesn’t make sense to someone with living relatives, my legs are getting stiff on the concrete and elementary cloud turned into something like a salsa rendition with goats as butlers, the drapes look a lot worse than you thought they would but it was that or the electric bill so we’re eating dinner in the dark until you find the courage to pack it up and bring it to Whole Foods, we’re doing everything in the dark until someone digs their hands into the couch and finds the lyrics to that tune we wrote last year, you said it had notes of autumn’s song and I laughed at you then but now it makes sense because my family is getting smaller and the leaves don’t sound as crunchy anymore, my legs don’t feel as strong as anymore, my ceiling-fan lights don’t seem as necessary as before, and my windows don’t do anything but mock the solitude in our house that does nothing but pay homage to every grave next door.

— ODH