Poetry Collection.

Untitled.

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I.
hold me, bear, hold me.
i only wanted a mother who'd
stir the honey and stoke the fire
and brew the tea on a cold winter
evening. a mother who'd wash my
wounds and tend to the cracks and
sing a vanilla melody as she rocked on
a mahogany chair, staring out the glazed
window into the black of snow.
she'd hold my shoulders kindly and
look at me with those soft river eyes,
wishing me luck
on my first hunt.

II.
hear me, deer, hear me.
you are silent and wary and i see the
fear you feel when you look at me.
please, do not be afraid, for i offer no harm unlike
those hunters who struck a bullet endowed with
faux golden symbiosis into her heart. i only wanted
someone to listen to my stories as they did my mum;
to listen when i spoke of those lonely nights, the flames
of the dusty fireplace licking at my socks of reindeer fur,
evaporating the tears that had somehow
fallen into my tea. to listen when i spoke of the
freezing dawn, a ghost standing in the doorway.

III.
run with me, wolf, run with me.
no longer can i stay here.
the calling keeps me awake even after the sun
has dipped down behind the pines. the ghosts, they cast the
tea to extinguish the fire, chipping away at the mahogany chair
and shattering the windows. they have stolen away everything,
yet i fear they are never sated.
i must leave these mountains; their peaks expose their teeth,
rows and rows of swords, miles and miles of lies.
but how can i? buried beneath those pines, they lie in wait.
i haven't found myself yet.
wait.

IV.
kill me, crow, kill me.
the sun's weaving of gold and pink has not
yet retired the moon. why has the frost
not yet pierced my flesh and wrap my soul
in a sigh, like mother said it would?
even darkness keeps quiet,
even in death i am unworthy.

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(2019.)