- 1 min read

the separation

mother, she scrawled in the sky.

nature, I replied.

and when the storms came

she didn't stay

and I died.

The separation of things

are obvious only when

not enough questions are asked

and doors are opened

without knocking

the winds will bring you to me,

she used to say

but the only thing they ever do

is remind me the direction

that she walked away.

Recent Posts

See All

she takes pieces

of me, little by little little bites sinking into old wounds every time and I let her because just like the trees open their hands to the snow I do love the idea of dying slowly loved and afraid and b

all she does

is write little books, is what I heard the husband of a friend say once. that's all she does, all day he said and she laughed and I nodded and felt my shoulders sink and remembered her laugh as I sat

Valentines Day

Bring in your dead, she said. So I dragged my lovers out of the warm cocoons of my sheets out through my crooked legs and my sweat-soaked arms and watched as they clutched not at the bed, but at their