❝ It’s funny, when I think about this exact time last year. Things were so different. I never would have thought that things could change so much in only a year. I wonder what next October will be like. ❞
❝ to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again. ❞
Back home, the girls are not soft —
they pit peaches with their teeth,
drink sadness like they’re starving.
They always dance alone,
listen to songs with lyrics
about strawberry wine.
They blossom like beer bottles,
wear october on their shins,
split open, screaming —
a foreign rose
for a fight.
❝ Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows. ❞