"before you put my body in the cold ground....
take some time to warm it with your hands...."
This Year
This is the year my flesh is ripped from my bones
I lay down to the world and confess
That my grief is real
This is the year my hands wipe my face clean of lines
And lies and lives
And I relinquish this power I have
This is the year that I see the ghost in my kitchen
And ask if my sins are repaired
Only to hear a hollowed reply
”I am not real, you saw nothing”
This year travels in me like thick iron syrup
Promised to cleanse but only makes me foggy
And I know I wake up to find
Another year I lost
This year I wait for stick figured doe-eyed men
To cross the stars and land before my temples
The ones next to my eyes
So ripe for gouging
This year I will depend
On little tiny hands to hold my heart
And keep it warm
Hands wrinkled by long
Luke warm bath water
But they were big strong hands
This year I will survive
On top of crackling leaves
Like Live Oak skies that smile
on young men not yet burdened
burdened by coarse worlds
and cursed words
Kumbaya motherfucker
This year winter will last but for a blink
We hope
We hope
And Christmas is rebirth for the spirits
Just like summer sucks
Our bones dry of marrow
Seasons all consuming
But not this year
We hope
