In this land of two summers,
I've spent four staring outside the
windowpanes of my heart
searching for you amidst the barrenness
of the Earth.
When the angels left the faucets running,
I paid the bill with sadness.
Through the blur of the downpour,
I drew a picture of you beaming
the way you only did with your mother.
The splash of boots against the wet pavement
had my chest beating like a bass drum,
had me praying upon a nameless stranger
defying the weather,
a shadow splitting the night in half.
You never came around.
The sound of dripping was an aria of violence,
betraying my breaking.
It was a conductor that divided the air with his palm and
when the choir chorused,
everyone suddenly became a poet.
Through the sweating glass panes,
I made out your silhouettes to be full of light.
The scurrying feet of children outside
had my organs churning on themselves like a bike pedal,
had my eyes scanning the landscape and
pointing to everywhere you weren't,
a pair of aimless lovers mourning a loss unmapped.
You never came around.
The squeals of boys and girls hurrying to
get to ice cream stores
chimed my doors rusty and dull.
It was a conductor that divided the air with his palm and
when the choir chorused,
everyone suddenly became a poet.
Through the deaths and the rebirths of the land,
I have stayed as faithful as a witness.
In this land of two summers,
I've spent four bent on my desk
penning you poems in perfect rhyme,
forgetting that you never knew how to read anything
but the language of her tongue.
You never came around.
YOU ARE READING
Fools
PoesiaWords by Fransivan MacKenzie Illustrations by Cali Isobel "FOOLS" is a small collection of poetry accompanied by illustrations that reek of love in its rawest nature, therefore defying all kinds of logic. All sixteen poems (excluding the tiny ones o...
