by Heather Carnaghan
I whispered your name to the same trees that already knew it well. They wept acorn tears and clung to their last leaves defiantly remembering the spring as I angrily failed to find the words that could conjure the sound of your last heartbeat. I told each squirrel to relay my love should they find you in the wood. One stared curiously at me and, for one lingering moment, we shared the thought of you. I released a stone inked with “two months” onto the undisturbed silt below the surface of the lake. It’s tiny engraved fox will soon be covered with ice and, like your hiccups, only I will ever know it was there.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
August 2018
Categories |