*The rotting that sets in
when you leave. The trees stamped onto our minds
like traumas are supposed to be. The moon sitting greedily
on your house. The seasons tugging at your sleeve. The roads
that have to do with your body. The last names
that have a flavor in your mouth, that you will eat
if you’re ever starving. The grass you’ve been staring at.
The fullness you assume will reach your eyes
if you give it another year.*
(Gold River ; Katie Rosemurgy)
when you leave. The trees stamped onto our minds
like traumas are supposed to be. The moon sitting greedily
on your house. The seasons tugging at your sleeve. The roads
that have to do with your body. The last names
that have a flavor in your mouth, that you will eat
if you’re ever starving. The grass you’ve been staring at.
The fullness you assume will reach your eyes
if you give it another year.*
(Gold River ; Katie Rosemurgy)