Sister to the trees
thorns brush my knees
as I make my way
to kiss the flowers.
The faint whisper
of a weedwhacker,
like a colossal bee
reminds me of the Carhart overalls
splattered with years of paint
flitting around outside the quaint
house in the tall grass.
The long last green
would be long gone back home.
I lay down on the soft loam
absorb the sparse browns,
bathe in gentle heat.
Caught in a time loop
everlasting spring.
YOU ARE READING
My Year of Unrest: a collection of poems I wrote in 2020
PoetryA collection of poems from 2020 that act as my diary as I deal with anxiety, starting antidepressants for the first time, the pandemic, and the unstable socio-political climate in the United States. Critique is welcome and encouraged. Some poems ar...
